#found himself back on the streets of the city with the flaming building behind him

[ohproserpine]

iv. dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, jealousy, possessiveness, alastor does not know how to interpret love, or maybe he does, in his own twisted way, roadkill used as a symbolism, gorey descriptions of love, murder the song she sings is 'roxie' from chicago

˚୨୧₊♱

"Hey!" Charlie's voice rang out as she spotted Mimzy making her way towards the hotel entrance. The blonde froze, casting a nervous glance behind her to see the demon princess rapidly approaching with a worried look that she mistook for anger.

With practiced ease, the blonde put on a fake frown, pressing her hand over her chest. "Oh, Charlie! I'm so sorry for the trouble last night, sugar! I'll pay—"

"No, no! I'm not here for that," Charlie waved her hands with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the slump of relief on Mimzy's shoulders. "Are you leaving so soon? The hotel wouldn't mind taking you in!"

Caught off guard by Charlie's unexpected offer, Mimzy grimaced. She hesitated, opening her mouth before shutting it as she struggled to find the right words. "Oh! Well…you see…"

A laughing track, sounding like it was filtered through a radio, echoed through the air, and Mimzy turned to the source to find Alastor towering over her with his signature grin.

"I don't think redemption is quite her style," Alastor's chipper voice rang out. His clawed hand reached for Mimzy’s hair, plucking a feather from her headpiece. In his hands, the pink ornament erupted into flames. "Frankly, I have my doubts she could even be redeemed at all!"

Horrified, Mimzy watched as her feather fell to the floor in ashes, her hand instinctively reaching for the charred remnants.

"Alastor," Charlie glared at him before turning her attention back to Mimzy. "We believe in redemption for everyone. It's not about what you were; it's about what you choose to be now. We'll be here to support you every step of the way."

"Thanks, sugar," Mimzy forced a smile, waving her hand around daintily. She glanced at the entrance with a subtle wish for escape, playing up the nice act while Alastor continued to watch the scene unfold with a cryptic smile. "But radio here is right. I don't really think it's my style. Different strokes for different folks. Plus, I've got a business to run!"

Alastor hummed, twirling his microphone cane around in his hand. The crimson glow of his eyes narrowed at her as he chuckled. "You couldn't possibly mean that wooden box of debauchery you call a club, right?"

"My 'wooden box of debauchery' has more character than any joint in that city," Mimzy grit her teeth together in a smile, barely concealing her frustration.

As another argument began to form, a throat clearing interrupted the flow, capturing Mimzy's attention. A pink glove slowly rose from the couch and Angel Dust pushed himself off the furniture, sitting up with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"If I may~" Angel Dust chimed in. "You saying you, ah, got a bar? I'm always up for checking out new places. Mind if I swing by sometime, tits?"

Mimzy beamed and sent Alastor a smug look, making her way toward Angel Dust. She reached into her chest, pulling out a card with a flourish. "Of course, kitten! Here's all our information. You'll find us in the Vee district. Feel free to swing by anytime. And don't forget to bring a friend!"

Angel Dust took the offered card, a grin forming on his face. "Bring a friend, huh? You got it, toots."

˚୨୧₊♱

The Vee district, designated as the entertainment hub of Pride, was dazzled with bright neon lights and tall towering buildings adorned with blazing billboards. The streets pulsed with life, where every ten steps brought you face-to-face with street performers desperately vying for attention, hoping to catch the eyes of industry scouts. The message was clear – fame was the ticket to success. Performers were everywhere, found in rundown bars, neon nightclubs, and costly theaters catering to the insatiable appetites of the elite.

Mimzy's Lounge, nestled down east on one of the city's worse-off streets was no fancy stage. The building, weathered and worn, seemed to barely hold itself together. The exterior bore the scars of years gone by, with cracked windows, peeling paint, and near-rotting wooden walls. While it may not have been on the standards of the elite, to the poor and downtrodden, it was the best piece of entertainment they could afford.

Inside, the dim lighting of the bar did little to conceal the stains and cracks that adorned the floor and ceiling. Tables and chairs, mismatched, were arranged haphazardly. The air hung heavy with the smell of cheap perfume, wrapping around the audience—a motley crew of lost souls. On the stage, a couple of scantily clad showgirls were performing a dance routine, or at least their movements vaguely resembled one. The quality of the performance didn't seem to matter to the audience, who, hungry for any form of entertainment, welcomed the spectacle with open arms.

Seated discreetly in the back booths, Angel and Cherri had drawn their curtains tight, creating a cocoon of privacy amid the bustling buzz and thumping music in the club.

"…And check this out – Alastor is hitched," Angel Dust spat out the last word as if it were poison. His face caught the warm, bright lights spilling into their booth, slipping through the small gap in the middle of the curtains. He sipped from his drink, a glint in his eyes. "And the owner here's got some serious dirt on his missus or somethin' like that."

"That why you dragged me to this hellhole? Knew it," Cherri snorted, taking a sip of her cocktail, the sweet and tangy flavors doing little to mask the less-than-pleasant ambiance. "Couldn't believe you'd even want to step into a place like this."

"You know I can't resist a bit of gossip, and where else can you find more gossip than in a joint run by a gal who's got the goods on Alastor himself?" Angel grinned, his golden tooth flashing as he reclined in his torn red chair. "Hell. I bet anyone else would do what I'm doin'. I mean, who wouldn't be tearin' these walls down just to catch a glimpse of the Radio Demon's wife?"

Cherri Bomb let out a throaty chuckle. "Well, you're bloody right there."

A sudden blast of music echoed through the air, prompting Angel Dust to scramble out of his seat and poke his head out from behind the curtain. The previous performers stepped off the stage, making way for the upcoming act. He caught sight of a familiar pudgy figure sauntering onto the stage and hastily turned his head back to the booth, meeting Cherri's amused face. "It's startin'!"

“Welcome, all you devils and darlings, to the Dollhouse Lounge!” Mimzy's voice boomed, and the lights gracefully dimmed to focus on her. The hum of conversation dwindled, the audience's attention now on the stage. “It's the moment you've all been waiting for! The last act of the night… Dolly, the living doll!"

With Mimzy's spirited introduction, the claps and cheers crackled in the air. In an instant, the lights plunged into darkness, leaving Angel to flit his gaze across the smoke-hazed stage, hungry for a glimpse of what was to come. Suddenly, a surge of stage lights sliced through the lingering smoke, akin to a celestial burst, revealing your silhouette with a large signage that spelled out your name in bold, red letters.

Wearing a lovely smile, you spread your arms wide, catching everyone's attention as you sang the first note, voice sultry and dripping sweet like honey. "The name on everybody's lips is gonna be Dolly."

"That's his wife?" Cherri gawked behind Angel, her jaw dropping in disbelief. "Are you sure we got the right girl?"

"Hell, I'm just as surprised as you are," Angel shot back, an equally dumfounded look on his face.

"The lady raking in the chips Is gonna be Dolly," your voice echoed, the melody carrying through the lounge as you strolled towards the stage's platform. The rhythmic beat of the music vibrated against the soles of your heels while the spotlight dutifully trailed after you, its gentle glow caressing the curves of your glittery dress, casting glimmers of silver and gold that danced across the dimly lit bar.

"I'm gonna be a celebrity. That means somebody everyone knows," you continued, sauntering around the stage. As you swirled and twirled, your silhouette became a blur of sequins and shimmer. The spotlight then intensified its focus on you, highlighting the glint in your eyes. "They're gonna recognize my eyes. My hair, my teeth, my boobs, my nose."

"Fuck," Angel muttered under his breath. As you moved closer to the end of the platform, he could finally get a good look at you.

Shimmery blue eyeshadow graced your lids, while a dark blush adorned the apples of your cheeks, complementing the red lipstick you had on. Your dress, a dazzling ensemble of sequins, was not only radiant but also provocatively low-cut, teasingly revealing a glimpse of your chest before gracefully dropping to your knees. Dark silk stockings, sensually tracing the contours of your legs, were held by garters. At your feet, bedazzled red Mary Janes sparkled like jewels, catching the light with every step you took.

As Angel thought back to his conversation with Mimzy, he found himself agreeing with her earlier comments. You really were a living, breathing doll.

"From just some dumb canni-bal’s wife. I'm gonna be Dolly," you continued, seamlessly weaving your magic, each lyric a spell that bound the audience. "Who says that murder's not an art?"

With a spin, you twirled around the stage, a ditzy grin on your face, the sequins on your gown catching the light like stars. "And who, in case she doesn't hang, can say she started with a bang! Dolly Heart!"

As the final notes of the song echoed through the venue, the room erupted in applause and cheers. But, the curtain wasn't falling yet. Standing backstage, Mimzy let the moment linger, reveling in the prolonged applause. After all, happy customers always tipped generously.

On cue, bills and coins descended like a storm, hitting the floor with a crisp sound that mixed beautifully with the cheers of the delighted audience. There was so much that the shower of currency formed a makeshift carpet beneath your feet.

Angel Dust, still peeking from behind the curtain, wore a smirk of approval. "Not bad, not bad at all," he whispered to Cherri, who nodded in agreement.

Standing on the stage, bathed in the lingering glow of the spotlight, you held your pose, chest heaving up and down. A demure smile graced your lips as soft, appreciative nods and fluttering eyelashes accompanied each gaze you cast toward the audience. Tonight's turnout was impressive, though not unexpected given your agreement to perform one of your most famous songs after a prolonged hiatus.

"Dolly" was a beloved crowd-pleaser and the one song you hated with a passion.

The spotlight continued to shine relentlessly in your eyes, causing a painful burn in your irises. The deafening applause felt like a relentless assault on your senses as each clap echoed loudly in your ears. From the speakers, the music blasted in waves, the volume rattling your bones. Showbusiness, a constant companion in both your living and afterlife, had become an achingly familiar yet tormenting cycle.

In the corner of your eye, you saw Mimzy step up onto the stage to address the crowd. "Thank you, my lovely devils and darlings! Wasn't Dolly simply darling tonight?" she squealed through the mic.

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause once more, the energy in the room reaching a fever pitch. Mimzy basked in the adoration, her grin widening as she soaked in the success and the money. Oh, the money.

"I know you loved that!" she laughed. She leaned into the microphone, her voice turning into a whisper "Of course, you all do. I wrote it."

"Now, let's give our star her rest. Dolly, my dear, take a bow!" Mimzy's voice rang out, signaling the end of the performance. Relieved, you bowed before making your way towards the curtains as the heavy fabrics began to descend. After blowing a few more kisses to the audience, you slipped backstage, letting the smile fade from your face. As you vanished from view behind the curtain, Angel caught the look on your face.

It was a look he knew all too well.

"She looks perfectly happy without him," Cherri remarked with a casual shrug. "I mean, look at 'er. She's the star of the show. You think she left on purpose?"

Angel furrowed his brows, deep in thought. It didn't make no sense to him.

Why would you willingly perform under Mimzy's control when Alastor, with his power, could easily get you out of here? Contract or no contract, that radio freak could tear Mimzy apart like a hot knife through butter.

The spider's attention shifted towards the audience, and his gaze locked onto Mimzy, who was engrossed in conversation with some VIPs. The sight of her triggered a scowl to etch itself onto his features.

"I don't think so. There's more to it," Angel's eyes narrowed, the wheels in his head turning, "I've seen that look before."

"What look?" Cherri raised an eyebrow.

"That trapped look," Angel said, his gaze following Mimzy as she continued her animated conversation, oblivious to the scrutiny. "Before the curtains dropped, I saw it on her."

"Shit, Angie," Cherri's gaze followed Angel's, and she pursed her lips. "You think she's playing the part or really stuck?"

Angel Dust stood up straight, now opening the curtains wide as his eyes never left Mimzy. "I don't know, but I'm gonna find out."

Both of them took their time, patiently waiting until Mimzy stepped away. Once the blonde demon finally made her way backstage, they discreetly followed her lead, slipping behind the curtains with her.

The busy backstage corridor welcomed them with an assortment of items – costumes, props, and stage decor – scattered in chaotic disarray. Angel's eyes wandered around, and he spotted Mimzy in a far corner, sitting atop worn cardboard boxes. Nudging Cherri, he gestured for both of them to move closer.

"Hey~ How's it going, blondie?" Angel purred, leaning against a nearby prop, his tone dripping with a sickly sweet tone. Mimzy looked up, confused before she recognized him and flashed a wide grin.

"Hey, you! You're that spider fella from the hotel!" She tapped her chin in thought narrowing her eyes at him. "Uhm, Angle Dust was it?"

"It's Angel Dust," he corrected, a twitch of annoyance in his eye.

"Uh-hah, that's nice," Mimzy seemed unfazed, continuing to count her money, her legs swinging back and forth absentmindedly. "You like the show? Oh, who am I kidding, of course, you did!"

Angel Dust crossed his arms with a chuckle. "Yeah, about that. That girl, Dolly. She's quite a number, ain't she?"

"Oh, yeah. She's my little masterpiece," Mimzy smirked. "Met her before she had any of this."

"Let's cut the fuckin' crap," Cherri rolled her eyes, tired of dancing around the conversation. The cyclops leaned down to Mimzy's height, scowling into her face and driving her finger into the blonde's chest. "I'll say it straight. What's the deal with her? You got some strings attached?"

Mimzy paused and glanced up at Cherri with an arched eyebrow before turning to Angel and laughing tensely. "Your friend here sure is forward, Ankle! Oh, sweethearts, Dolly's here because she wants to be."

Angel Dust shot Cherri a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. "Yeah?"

"The girl signed a contract willingly," Mimzy explained with a casual shrug. "She gets what she wants, and I get what I want. It's a fair exchange."

Angel's eyes narrowed, his skepticism evident. "Contract? What's in it for her, then? Why willingly perform in this dump when she could easily be the star anywhere else?"

The blonde sent Angel a glare for his dig at her lounge but still answered him. "Dolly owes me something. A little debt she's paying off with her charming performances. A contract might sound sinister, but it's just showbusiness, furs." Mimzy leaned back, folding her arms, her expression daring the two of them challenge her further.

"Bull. She sold you her soul to dance and sing?" Cherri scoffed, taking the challenge.

"No, no, there was no soul exchange involved," Mimzy rolled her eyes. "Just a contract. But still binding, magical, and all of that stuff."

"Now, can you two get out of my hair?" Mimzy huffed, shooing them away with a dismissive wave. "I've got a lot of things to run here!" She returned to counting her money, clearly eager to be rid of the unwanted attention.

"Let's go, Cherri," Angel said with a look of defeat, pushing himself off the prop he had been leaning on.

Once the two of them finally stepped out of the establishment, the spider groaned to himself, now finding himself with more questions than answers.

˚୨୧₊♱

You strolled behind the weighty curtains, the backstage area buzzing with the rush of staff, the shouts of managers, and the lingering presence of performers idly awaiting their cues. Navigating through the organized chaos, you directed your steps towards your private dressing room—a sanctuary away from the glaring spotlight.

You threw the door open, entering quickly and slamming it shut behind you, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the clamor and racket outside. Flicking a light switch, the dim glow of a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling revealed the room's worn-out glamour. A vanity cluttered with makeup, costumes haphazardly thrown on a worn-out sofa, and a cracked mirror that had seen better days—all were familiar sights.

"I would kill for a glass of whiskey," you murmured to yourself, the weariness of the performance settling in. Rolling your head and groaning as you heard a satisfying crack, you added, "or maybe a whole bottle of it."

Kicking off your heels, you let the cool floor cradle your skin, leaving the discarded shoes in a dusty corner to rest. Seated at the vanity, the chaotic world beyond the backstage curtains ceased to exist. The gentle glow of the vanity lights exposed the weariness in your eyes as you wiped away your mascara and dusted off the remnants of glitter from your skin. While removing your earrings, the shimmer of your wedding ring caught your eye.

A frown tugged at your lips, the subtle ache of longing surfacing.

You missed your husband.

With a sigh, you continued removing your earrings before tossing them onto your vanity. Seeking to ease the edge, you reached for a whiskey bottle on a nearby dresser, grabbing a glass and pouring yourself a drink. The golden liquid glimmered in the subdued light as you took a sip, the warmth of the alcohol coursing through you.

"C̵h̶e̸r̷?̷"̸

A static rumble of a radio, like thunder, jolted you mid-drink, causing the liquid to catch in your throat. Coughing and sputtering for a while, you scrambled to collect yourself before turning behind you. Your gaze landed on the desk table where your radio sat. The crackling static continued, accompanied by a familiar voice and distorted sounds.

Alastor.

Grabbing a cloth to wipe yourself, you rushed to the desk and grabbed the old radio in your hands. The radio was a faded, worn red with yellowed dials, and its antennas were visibly broken, held up together with scraps of tape. Your contract with Mimzy did not allow you to meet with Alastor or his shadows for as long as you were under her, but that didn't mean you couldn't communicate with Alastor in other ways.

With trembling hands, you carefully adjusted the dials, aligning them to the familiar frequency that bridged the gap between you two. Your heart thrummed in your chest, head almost dizzy from anticipation. The distorted voices began to clear, and Alastor's distinctive voice cut through the static, a lifeline in the abyss.

"Cher, my dear, are you there?" Back in his room at the hotel, Alastor spoke through his mic, awaiting your response. He was sitting by the large windows, bathed in the dim glow of the Ring of Pride's lights. The hues painted a lovely ambiance against his skin, highlighting the contours of his sharp features as he reclined against a plush couch.

Heavy silence lingered for a while as you felt your throat closing up. Without realizing it, you began crying, your sobs echoing through Alastor's microphone.

"Yes, Al," you choked out between sobs, your hands gripping the surface of the radio tightly, nails scratching against the peeling paint. "I'm here. I missed you."

Alastor listened to your tearful voice through the crackling static, his shoulders tense as his claws clenched against his microphone handle. Your vulnerable confession hung heavily in the air, and he felt a storm stirring within him. Unsure of what to do with these emotions, he could only sit there and listen to you weep.

From the busiest street in Pentagram City to the darkest alleyways, Alastor's reputation as a bloodthirsty killer was infamous, and he reveled in it. The idea that an overlord like him could entertain genuine care for someone sounded preposterous. Throughout his human days and beyond, Alastor never felt such sentiments.

Decades ago, he only needed himself. However, ever since you entered his life, he became a man possessed.

The moment he first laid eyes on you, you were a vision of beauty with bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and he couldn't deny that he felt an inkling of fondness for you right from the start. But that was all it ever was—nothing more, nothing less.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he couldn't help but notice that the glow in your smile was brighter, lovelier. And despite his usual tendency to dismiss such details, Alastor couldn't look away. Not anymore.

You held him captive, like a deer frozen in the blinding glare of oncoming headlights. He was aware the collision was imminent, yet it still caught him off guard; A torrent of emotions crashing into him like a speeding truck, leaving him with twisted limbs and cracking bones, antlers torn from his head, fur matted and bloodied, with his heart exposed, beating vulnerably before you.

In the months that followed, Alastor remembered how foreign the feeling to him was. He didn't want to understand it, refused to, but each attempt to rip those festering emotions out of his chest only left him bleeding.

Looking back, Alastor finds himself incapable of fathoming how life was bearable before you entered it. The mere thought of returning to a time when you weren't present is something he refuses to entertain. The person he used to be, before he stepped into that speakeasy, now feels like a distant stranger, a mere shadow of the man he has become with you in his life.

The static in his thoughts subsided, in tandem with your crying and sobbing dying down. A prolonged pause lingered before Alastor interrupted the silence. "Cher, you know I'd bring you out of that wretched place if you just said the word."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you wiped away tears with your trembling fingers. "You tell me that every time we have these calls. Do you not get tired of it?"

"Never," Alastor hummed. The sound of your laughter, even tinged with bitterness, momentarily lifted the heavy burden that his heart carried. "The offer will always be up, darling!"

"You know I can't, Al. Me and her have history together," your voice paused, cracking with emotion. "And I still feel guilty."

Alastor sighed heavily, frustration dancing in his eyes. He always struggled to understand why you felt indebted to Mimzy, why guilt still clung to your decisions like a persistent shadow.

To him, Mimzy deserved the consequences. Despite his constant offers to free you from her grasp, you remained steadfast in your decision to complete your contract

"Very well, dear," Alastor's smooth voice crackled through the radio, weaving a comforting presence into the air as you moved back toward your vanity, taking a seat. "Now, enough of these melancholic talks. Tell me, how was the show tonight?"

"Mimzy had me perform 'Dolly' again," you remarked, a crooked smile playing on your lips. "She's well aware that I despise that song. I mean, really? Have you ever taken a look at the lyrics? It's a bit on the nose, don't you think?"

As your frustrations spilled out, Alastor stood from his seat, staff in hand. Placing it beside his closet, he attentively listened to your words, occasionally responding with chuckles and interjections. He slipped off his monocle, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and then his vest, revealing a well-tailored red undershirt that clung to his lean frame.

"I find the cannibal's wife line rather charming," Alastor smirked, and though he couldn't see it, you rolled your eyes in response.

"Of course you'd enjoy that part," you scoffed, mirroring Alastor's movements on the other side. Shedding the bedazzled dress, you opted for more comfortable attire, draping yourself in a robe.

"What's not to like? It shows the audience that you're my darling wife," Alastor quipped with a smug tone.

"Bushwa. They don't even know it's you. And I don't think anyone thinks highly of some poor fool shackled to a gaudy singer," you snorted. With the radio in tow, you began to pack your belongings into your purse.

"Don't be ridiculous," Alastor's laugh rumbled against the speakers. "My dear, being 'shackled' to you is the most delightful form of imprisonment."

"Such a sap," you scoffed, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. Shouldering your purse, you made your way towards the door, ready to leave. However, a sudden memory of a conversation with Mimzy surfaced.

"By the way, did you know Mimzy was planning to have me perform on some talk show?" you shared with Alastor while locking the door to your dressing room. A furrow appeared on your brow as the backstage lights played with shadows, casting a pensive expression on your face. "What was it again… Oh! Yes! Box-2-Nite."

A sudden screech from the radio erupted, its harsh sound reverberating in the hallway. Luckily, no one was around at this hour, and you cringed at the unexpected disturbance. Glaring at the box, you raised your brow. "You scared the living daylights outta me."

Alastor stayed silent for a while, claws digging into the cloth of his coat, ripping the fabric. With a snap of his head to the side, he dropped it to the floor and moved toward his staff, his shadows playing on the intricate patterns of the carpet beneath his feet.

"Do you perhaps mean… Vox-2-Nite?" His voice, usually smooth, carried an edge.

"Is that the name? I thought you hated telev—Oh. Ohhh..." As you ascended to the higher floors of the building, a realization swept over you.

Alastor's relationship with Vox was complicated. It didn't take a genius to see that. If the ceaseless back-and-forths on broadcasts, the turf wars that had casualties matching mass-extinction events, and the hushed gossip circulating among the other performers were anything to go by.

“Small world,” you chuckled, strolling down the hallway that led to the performers' rooms, the echo of your footsteps blending with the distant murmur of conversation. “I’m guessing I shouldn't take her up on the offer?”

"Absolutely not," Alastor practically snarled out, venom dripping from his tongue. The radio in your hand crackled and buffered, a faint golden glow emanating from the dials. "That pompous piece of shit television is nothing but a clout-chasing, mediocre host flitting between this fad and another on his little picture show podcasts."

“I know, love.” With a swift turn of a doorknob, you opened the door to your flat. "I wasn’t… planning… to…”

Your words trailed off, lingering in the air, as you entered the room. Your eyes widened in awe, captivated by the sight of a bouquet of white roses gracefully adorning your bed.

"Alastor," you spoke into the radio, your voice filled with genuine warmth. "Did you send me roses?"

Back in the hotel, Alastor, settled back into his plush couch. The fiery embers of his anger melting away like a fleeting shadow, replaced by the realization that you had discovered his gift.

A soft chuckle came from the radio, "Guilty as charged, cher. "

Your heart fluttered, and you sank onto the bed, dropping the radio on your mattress and taking the bouquet into your hands. The delicate petals felt soft against your fingers as you admired their beauty. White roses, unlike red ones, were so scarce it was difficult to get a hold of.

"Alastor, this is… wonderful," you spoke into the radio, smile so wide your cheeks almost hurt. "Why—How did you even—How did you even manage to find these?"

"Oh, I pulled a few strings," your husband grinned before chuckling, "and a few limbs too."

Your laughter intertwined with his and Alastor listened fondly, finding solace in the melody of your delight.

The day you inked that deal with Mimzy marked the onset of an agonizing pain he had never experienced before. The thought of leaving your sorrowful self under the wretched contract of that avaricious woman had incited a frenzied rage within him, leading to weeks of unbridled slaughters on the streets of hell.

The blood he spilled onto the sidewalks left a stain on the concrete that lasted months.

Fortunately for you and him, the ordeal was nearing its end. Just one more year remained until Alastor could finally reunite with you. After enduring decades of this agony, an additional year seemed like mercy.

"You like it, cher?" Alastor's voice dropped an octave lower, the satisfaction evident in his tone, pleased to bring happiness to your moment.

"Yes," you laugh, cradling the bouquet in your hands. "I like it very much."

˚୨୧₊♱

#calm before the #before the :)) #sephiewrites #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel vox

[saphirered]

Hello :) I have a request if that is alright! I haven’t been able to get this thought out of my head for some reason but I really have been wanting to see a fenrys X witch!reader fic… (I also kinda picture the witch being a quite mysterious kinda fella if that make sense)

Hope this is to your liking. Suggestive in the end but no different than the books. Hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting! 😘

No matter how many times he walks the path, the shadows always seem bigger, the noises more sudden, and the perpetual feeling he’s being followed ever present. The hairs at the back of his neck rise in alert as another creature skitters by and makes a rustle. Were Fenrys of less courage, or perhaps stupidity he might have turned back when he first set foot onto the path, some semblance of a survival instinct telling him to go, but he isn’t one to back down from intrigue or a challenge for that matter. His brother challenged him decades ago. He’s glad he took that challenge. Fenrys walks not the forests out and away. No, he walks among the streets of a sprawling city, usually busy with life, it is busy with life, just not in these parts because the shadows are darker, and the shivers down the spine at the mere thought of this area keeps at bay the many, or those who would deign it below them to even look in the direction of these alleys. He’s here with a purpose though, eyes set on his destination; a humble abode that has seen better days. He notes the markings on the walls of the crammed buildings. He chuckles to himself every time he sees them. 

Fenrys lets his fingers brush past the delicately carved stone; precision and skill showing clear. He remembers well when he saw you run not but your nail the bricks and left behind markings far deeper than a dagger could. Nails far sharper than claws he found. Your presence was as intimidating as it was alluring and he could not help but be a moth to a flame. Oh how you caught him from that very moment and how he had kept buzzing at your ear like some mosquito refusing to be swatted. He’d asked what you were doing, out of curiosity of course. You had ignored him entirely. He came back the next day. Same routine. And the next day, and the next. Then he finally figured out what that cloak of red of yours meant. Didn’t know if it was confusion or if he’s just into your witchy wiles. Probably both if he’s honest. 

He avoid a particularly nasty mark on the floor. Not making that mistake again and follows the footsteps you showed him, or the ones he cared to remember, through self-preservation more like, and finds his way to the front door. Fenrys doesn’t bother knocking. He simply swings the door open and lets himself in. He scans the room; dark and gloomy save for the ominous candlelight and hearth embers. The whispered chants also don’t make this situation better. He spots you in all your glory. You’re in not but a shirt, seated on your floor, in the centre of the painted markings below, the carpet- one you put in place ever since his frequenting visits, rolled up and cast aside in some corner. Fenrys can’t keep his eyes off you. If not for your magics then your sheer beauty and perhaps the amount of exposed skin, though he’s of the opinion you could lose the shirt too. 

“Don’t interrupt.” You interrupt him when he opens his mouth, even though your back is turned. 

“How di-“ Fenrys starts but is cut off again. 

“Shhh!” You hold up your index finger while your other hand seems to be covered in some kind of dark liquid. Given the smell and his familiarity; he feels safe to say it’s blood. His nose scrunches as you continue working, speaking a language he cannot begin to comprehend, and not for you lack of trying to teach him. Fenrys simply makes himself at home, grabs some slices of fruit from the plate on the table and nibbles away on them while he lays down on your couch, legs over one of the arms, and an assembly of whatever pillows were in arms reach propping himself up enough to watch you while you work. He sees now you are pulling the literal heartstrings from a heart and using them for whatever spells you’re practicing. He feels that familiar vibration in the air, notes the candles flicker and your words like a song fade into the distance. You get to your knees and begin the process of cleaning up. He groans. 

“First you don’t let me ask questions. Then you don’t pay me any attention whatsoever? What happened to hospitality?” He scoffs jokingly as you wipe your hands on a rag, strutting over to him, each step revealing your legs more. You brush aside a lock of his hair. 

“My poor darling, how ever will you survive?” The sarcasm drips from your voice. He tries to catch your hand but you’re quicker and grasp his wrist in yours instead and raise an eyebrow. 

“With great difficulty.” He mopes as he attempts to brush along your skin with his caught hand. “Did you get my gift?” Fenrys knows he’ll get no answers out of you, and if he did he doubts he’ll be able to comprehend so a change of subject it is, before your remind yourself you have other work to do, before you return to your daily tasks as the city’s witch and provide many a charm and enchantment and healing to the commoners who can afford your skills. Your attention is on him now. He’d prefer to keep it that way, selfish as it may be. Besides, it’s not like you don’t know it. You’ve been loud and clear in your understanding of his ploys and desire for your attention, as well as how far he is willing to go to prove to you he’s worthy of your time. You’ve let him prove himself many a time and to your satisfaction too if he may be so bold. 

“Yes I did.” Fenrys pulls at his wrist and forces you to take another step closer, your knees hit the couch he lays on. You roll your eyes and sigh. Even in your fake annoyance and reluctant submission you’re the cutest witch he’s ever seen. As opposed to taking a proper seat you settle for him instead. You lift yourself, your knees on either side of his hips. and play with one of the buttons on his shirt. He had opted for leaving a decently scandalous amount undone for a casual stroll through the city. All intentional of course. 

“Did you like it?” 

“‘My beloved, I could see no other than you wearing this piece. I hope you will wear it for me some time. Yours truly, your illiterate idiot’. You sent me a hat. So romantic of you.” You can’t fight the amusement from your face. His free hand comes to rest on the curve of your hip as his fingers brush against your skin, slipping underneath that shirt of yours. Almost makes you forget about the fact this gift is a curved pointy hat with the wide brim and red ribbon around the base. 

“Have you tried it on? I think it would look quite well on you. Everything looks well on you. As does nothing at all but since you’re so set on wearing something…” Fenrys plays with the hem of your shirt letting it rise to expose your behind a bit more and then letting his fingers dance over the curve until he feels your every so light shiver, the one you couldn’t quite suppress. He notes the parting of your lips and the single second of thought pass through your eyes as you recompose yourself. Much to his disappointment you don’t let yourself give into him and his advances. Instead you get up and leave him lacking your warmth. He groans in disappointment as you disappear up the stairs. 

Fenrys awaits not so patiently and contemplates if you’d come back down at all until he hears your bare footsteps. His lower arm covers his eyes as he lays back and hones in on the sound. Nothing’s changed but then he looks towards the stairs and sees you. He sees you. All of you. Hat and all. You’re wearing the hat and it looks marvellous on you. Every bit the stereotypical witch. Except for the fact you’re wearing just the hat. You’re wearing just… the… hat… Fenrys sucks in a breath and sits up a bit more to take you in fully as you return to him step by step, hips swaying s enchantingly, eyes on him never faltering and regarding him with a mix of someone of affection and someone about to be devoured. He’ll take satisfaction with either but preferably both. 

“This what you wanted?” You all but purr or perhaps that’s just his mind’s perception because he’s at a loss. When he got you this gift, this is not what he expected. It’s backfired in the best way possible. 

“Everything I wanted and more. You never cease to amaze and surprise me. You don’t have some sort of enchantment on me right?” You take your previous place on his lap, but in his seated position you allow your arms to drape over his shoulders and lean in every so lightly to trail featherlight kisses along his jaw to his ear. 

“If I enchanted you, would you think you’d know?” You whisper and feel the gooseflesh spring to life with great satisfaction. You feel his hands wander freely, grazing, brushing tenderly, to remind himself this is quite real. 

“I don’t think I care enough I'd want to know. Now you’ve had a hard day of work, so how about I help you decompress a little?” That sly grin of his comes out of hiding. That lasted all of ten minutes. A new record. You need not be asked twice as you lean in and place his lips against yours in an open kiss. Now Fenrys knows an invitation when he sees one and deepens the kiss. letting himself fall back onto the couch, and you with him as this feverish kiss continues and evolves. This plan worked out marvellously. He’s a genius. 

#fenrys x reader #throne of glass fenrys #fenrys moonbeam #throne of glass x reader #tog x reader #throne of glass #throne of glass fic #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass imagine

[kyiratodoroki]

An MHA AU where things go (a lot) more in the villains' favor, even if things start out a little rough for the 19-year-old Blue Flame. 😏 Dabi is living on the streets and struggling through the day-to-day need to survive, but things may soon take a turn that no one in Japan saw coming.

A title is in the works...

Edit: A title has been chosen...

🌒🌟🌘Transilience🌒🌟🌘

an abrupt change or variation

CW: Language - lots of bad language 😂 - violence in the future - things will probably get dark - I rarely write anything that isn't dark in some way

🌒🌟🌘

"This fucking sucks."

That's what Dabi thought as he hoisted himself over the windowsill and dropped to the ground. He swore under his breath as the full moon slipped from behind the clouds and flooded the alley with light as if determined to expose him. He hastened his pace, slipping into the shadow of the building next door as a siren erupted in the distance.

This had been his life for the last two - no, maybe it was three - years. He lost track somewhere between then and now. His primary focus revolved around survival. Food. Shelter. He spent most of his days figuring out how to keep himself alive and out of trouble. It was all in the hope that one day he'd be able to crumble the foundation of society and shatter the illusion of perfection the masses had been brainwashed into believing about the heroes they idolized.

Propaganda spewed by the Hero Public Safety Commission put the heroes on a pedestal, made it seem like the title came with a guarantee of virtue and honor, like somehow those who wore it were incapable of being assholes with the same flaws every other human being possessed. Lying. Cheating. Narcissism. Betrayal. Being a hero didn't make someone a good person, but being a hero did make most people look the other way when the "hero" did something *unheroic*.

That needed to change. One way or another, he was going to make sure it did, but it was a goal he couldn't fulfill from the inside of a prison cell.

Dabi dodged in and out of alleyways, cut through three empty lots, and scaled a chainlink fence. The sirens eventually died down, taking the edge off his nerves. When he felt confident no one was following, he doubled back and headed for the condemned piece-of-shit he'd been calling home since the beginning of summer. It sat on the outskirts of one of the worst neighborhoods in the city, which lowered the risk of being discovered by a random hero. They never came around the area unless it was unavoidable.

Thirty minutes later, he got "home" - for lack of a better word. The back door hung askew. It had a broken hinge and a large crack in the wood that had already extended a few inches since he'd found the place. Every window was boarded up except for the narrow one over the kitchen sink and one in the upstairs bathroom, which didn't close the whole way and had no screen. There was at least one hole in most of the floors, and the staircase had a busted step he had to remember to avoid. At least the roof kept everything dry when it rained. For now.

He pried the door open and stepped into the kitchen, scanning the tiny space for any sign of intruders. It was dark, save for the muted light filtering through the grime-caked window, so he probably wouldn't see shit unless someone was standing right in front of him. He sighed and tossed his bag on the counter before lighting a nearby candle with a fingertip. It didn't increase his visibility much, but it wouldn't draw attention either.

The wear and tear of life on the streets gnawed at the edges of his resolve. He'd never abandon his dream, but damn, the day-to-day left him feeling frayed. The phrase "ready to fall apart at the seams" came to mind, but in his case, the idiom was far too literal for comfort.

Dabi pushed down his exhaustion and frustration and tried to focus on the weeks to come. Winter was on the horizon, and his current residence left a lot to be desired even in the best weather. The cold wasn't an issue, but he didn't know exactly how sturdy the roof was. For all he knew, it might cave in under the first heavy snow.

"Late night?"

He didn't bother to turn towards the voice, pulling out three bowls and a few bottles of water. "The fuck do you want?"

"No need to get hostile. Do I need a reason to visit my buddy?"

Dabi barked out a laugh as he grabbed a plastic fork from the nearby box of silverware. "Buddy? That's a good one."

"Dabi -"

"Fuck you, bird. I'm nothing but your self-appointed charity project." He popped the lid off one of the bowls and threw it into a nearby garbage can - not like there was water to wash it - then stabbed the fork into something resembling rice and beef. Hopefully, the dark spots were seasoning and not mold this time. People needed to clean out their damn refrigerators more often. "Besides, I don't think all your little hero friends would approve of you hanging out here."

Dabi shoved a forkful of the leftovers into his mouth and scowled as he chewed. It wasn't moldy, but it tasted like shit. The rice was undercooked, and he suspected those dark spots were bits of burnt... something. It was impossible to tell. He swallowed anyhow and took another bite. He hadn't eaten since the previous day.

The silence went on for so long that Dabi finally turned around, half expecting to find himself alone, but Hawks was still standing in the kitchen doorway. Shadows obscured most of his face, making his expression hard to read, but Dabi swore he looked hurt. The light shifted, and then the hero was grinning.

*Gotta be my imagination.*

"Hey, I'm not the type to worry about what other people think." Hawks shrugged. His feathers rustled. He moved further into the room and gestured towards the table. "I brought some stuff."

Dabi choked down another mouthful of food and glanced at the table sitting next to a refrigerator with a missing freezer door. When he left, the surface was cluttered with bottles and cans and an overflowing ashtray. All of it had been cleared away and replaced with a case of water; a few cloth bags, which he assumed contained food; and a pillow and blanket.

He glared at the items, his grip on the bowl tightening. The hero had a lot of nerve showing up out of nowhere with his damn pity gifts. He was probably proud of himself for helping out the "less fortunate" or some shit; as if this one small act somehow made the world a better place.

It didn't change anything.

His eyes narrowed when he noticed a box tucked in between two of the bags. Even in the dim light, the bright white logo on its side was visible. Hinode Donuts The high-end pastry shop was located on the far side of Musutafu, and he'd only been there once It pissed him off even though his mouth watered at the sight.

During the previous winter, he'd taken up residence in a nice little house in Minami Ward to escape the bite of a particularly nasty cold snap that had settled over the city. The owners were on vacation, so he helped himself to a warm bed and a pantry filled with instant ramen amd chips.

One of the neighbors must have noticed his presence because the winged rookie showed up in the middle of the night about three days after he got there. Maybe Dabi should have been grateful it was the bird that answered the call. Hawks somehow figured out the nature of the situation and stayed cool even though Dabi attempted to instigate a fight. The hero offered to help him find a job and a place to stay. He wasn't stupid enough to fall for the bullshit kindness routine, but he did grudgingly allow Hawks to buy him a large coffee and half a dozen doughnuts before blowing off his warning to stay out of trouble in the future.

For the remainder of the season, Dabi stayed at a questionable hotel, earning his room and a few spare bucks by running errands he knew would make the bird regret letting him go. It's not like he had a choice, and he was used to the dirty work by that point. Morals didn't equal survival in the streets, and if he was anything, Dabi was a survivor.

"Why the hell do you keep showing up here?"

"I just can't resist the hospitality."

Dabi rolled his eyes as he tossed the bowl in the garbage, unable to stomach any more of the mystery leftovers. The bird was an idiot, putting them both at risk. Dabi meant it when he said the hero's friends wouldn't approve. If one of them caught on and followed him, Dabi knew he'd be royally fucked. A few of the jobs he'd done recently had gotten more attention than he liked. Hawks had to be aware of the situation, but here he was with that stupid cover-boy smile and his damn doughnuts.

"Look, Dabi, I know you think I'm -"

A loud bang from upstairs stopped him short. His eyes widened, and Dabi growled, his left hand bursting into flames. The flickering blue light sent an array of shadows twisting up the walls and across the ceiling as the crackle of fire filled the sudden silence.

This turn of events wasn't a complete surprise. Heroes weren't trustworthy. Some part of him - very deep inside - had begun to think maybe Hawks was different from the rest. He'd almost been willing to consider the possibility this hero had a genuine intention to help rather than try to trap him or fuel his own ego. Dabi ignored the pang of disappointment and focused on the sense of relief that came with the fact that he never let his guard drop completely.

"Should've cooked you when I first had the chance."

Hawks threw his hands up in surrender, shaking his head. "Whoa, wait! I don't have a clue what that was. I swear, I came alone."

"Not buying it, hero."

A crash erupted from the livingroom, followed by a series of thuds accented with curses that echoed through the house. The second intruder wasn't doing anything to hide their presence, and Dabi questioned whether the bird might be telling the truth after all. If he wasn't, his choice for backup sucked.

"After you." Dabi grinned, gesturing towards the doorway with the flames still dancing on his fingertips, eager for action. There's no way he was getting caught between the two.

Hawks hesitated before passing through the archway. Dabi followed, every muscle tensed in anticipation. The livingroom was darker than the kitchen. All the windows were covered in boards and newspaper, which allowed him to move around well enough during the day but made getting around damn near impossible once the sun set. He'd memorized the landscape of the space. Broken furniture littered the floor, and there was a two-foot hole near the massive bookcase that blocked the front door. He spent most of his time in the master bedroom on the second floor where he kept a small lamp and a futon and could move around a little more freely.

"Heeey, Dabi, did you know there's a step missing... Wait! What are you doing here?"

Dabi groaned when he recognized the voice and stepped around Hawks to confirm his suspicion. Sure enough, a black-clad figure at the bottom of the staircase was climbing to his feet as he rubbed his head. A mask hid his face, but his confusion was apparent as he stared at the winged hero.

"How the hell do you people keep finding me? You'd think I was advertising my fucking location on the internet!"

Dabi turned on a heel and extinguished his flame as he went back to the kitchen, leaving the other two in darkness.

#mha dabi #dabi #touya todoroki #mha fanfiction #mha fic #mha au #a twist of fate #a dance on the dark side #mha hawks #bnha hawks #bnha #keigo takami #a new beginning #mha villain au #villain supremacy

[14846]

Chapter 1: Brief

Survivors. All those remaining, by chance, survived. Political outrage, civilian forfeit and the dark three years since the rumbling stole a lot for the twenty percent of the population who lived to see another day. The ship was landing, the queen would guide her cohorts and a new chapter would begin.

 —

Well within the walls did the wheels bring them to, and by nightfall there was a celebration to mark the anniversary of all branches of the military unifying under the land of Paradis.

A lone soldier, a warrior, a person once cast aside and laid with the burden that only he thought he could atone for. Sins were the tragedies he still couldn’t courage forgiveness; but it got easier. He had backup, he had been given another chance and now found himself strolling about the very place he once betrayed. The very place he felt that accepted him for who he was.

The land he prayed to return to, the land he wished for. The place he sought in his dreams when he would then awake in a dull bedroom in the midst of another war front for Marley. A once Vice Chief Braun was a Warrior, but at heart he was always a soldier. He had returned back to his own Fennario.

His heart lunged from his chest as he marched down the cobblestone road, aiming for something particular only to him when a boom burst through the air and exploded, but there was no fire. There were shouts, awe circumvented through the crowds that were placed by some kiosks along the streets.

The soldier’s leg gave in, his hand raising over to grab the vest buttoned over his chest as a rumble vibrated throughout the stoned walkway. Another, and his eyes shot up to see fire crackling in the air, falling, but not landing near him. His knee snapped in another direction opposing how he intended to send his boot down in, and another thunder of fire clapped and sparked above him. His hands flew over his head to block the flames from landing onto him, his breath hitching and forcing him to hold back from any release. His lungs started to burn, and he felt his cheeks flush red as he started to hurry toward his destination. Another crash of light and the screams of awe pierced him. Reflections along the buildings cast lights around crates and other abandoned festivities that had happened earlier in the day.

A celebration to fit for the anniversary. He felt his body inevitably lunge forward, and without thought his arms were hovering over the back of his neck at another crash. He couldn’t save himself this time- he couldn’t save anybody else. Mortality was an exceptionally odd thing to accept after these few years.

Did anyone tell him that there would be fireworks tonight?

There must’ve been a mistake when a hand so politely pressed against the knelt soldier’s body. There was no rush to hide from the line of fire, no trance of panic. To think, the only people running nearby were the pitter-patter of children’s shoes as sparks twinkled from sticks that were held in their hands.

No. He was stuck in the battlefront huddled in his mind. A gentle tug, and the man looked up to see a concerned brunette looking down at him. She had obviously taken notice of the blonde’s strange behavior and taken initiative.

No words, just a concerned look. She pulled her hand from his shoulder and instead, flipped her palm upward to the sky and held it pointedly in front of him. Another crackle, and he shuffled uncomfortably, his eyes shutting as he lurched his hand into hers. With another tug from her, he pulled himself up to his feet.

As we marched down to Fennario As we marched down to Fennario What will your mother think when she hears the guineas clink The soldiers all marchin' before you-o? Sweet William is dead and he died for a maid The fairest maid in the are-o If ever I return, all your cities I will burn Destroying all the ladies in the are-o Fennario. Fennario.

She spoke and told him to focus. His legs dragged behind her despite her stride being much shorter than his. His stomach churned, his temples throbbing in pain by how tightly he had shut his eyes through the works of fire in the sky.

He returned to the land that broke his heart. Returned. Except the flames that emptied within the nation in fury had turned into comical opposition. The flames flew into the stars beyond now, but then, they crashed and smoked the grounds he stepped on. He continued to lag behind in memories, but now at least there seemed to be a hand that would drag him out of the war zone.

A door shut, and before he could realize, he was sitting with a cup of tea cradled in his hands.

“I’m Janette.”

#anime #anime and manga #manga #attack on titan #reiner braun #reiner x reader #reiner x oc #reiner smut #reiner fluff #aot reiner #aot #aot x reader #aot smut

[aries-writingblog]

Enemy Fire: 17

Summary: There's a new kid in town, and she's got a city to usurp.

Pairing: Jason Todd × F. Reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: language, violence, threats

AN: photos are from Pinterest

Jason stared down at the scene before him.

Riot vans were hastily parked halfway on the sidewalk, the streets swarming with police and SWAT teams.

“Oh, shit.” He murmured.

YN looked furious— hell, she was acting feral.

Not only had the police placed her in meta-cuffs, she was being transported in a case. The glass and metals had to have been forged with her in mind, or at least with someone who had her power in physical strength.

With her arms cuffed behind her, she used her shoulder to ram into the sides. Attempting to break the glass.

When none of her attempts phased the guards surrounding her, she shouted colorful taunts and jeers at them. Trying to bait them into a slip up. He could see an automatic temperature gauge on the side. It was down to fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. Her body was steaming in the frigid air of her cage.

He supposed that it was a good idea, to lower her internal temperature. Perhaps it could prevent her from conjuring any rogue flames.

Or it could cause her entire body to seize and she would go into hypothermic shock.

Fear paralyzed his lungs. He couldn’t just march out there and tell them the dangers of changing her temperature without knowing what would happen. He couldn’t have connections to her at all.

Not if he wanted her to be able to get out.

Jason tore his eyes away from her steaming fury. He had to work fast. He and Roy had spent the entire day brainstorming a plan and now, even those frayed ideas were falling apart.

He needed to find Roy, they needed to regroup. Figure something else out.

He cursed under his breath; He should’ve told her when he found out. He could’ve prevented this by letting her prepare herself.

He looked up; Nightwing stood at the top of the buildings. Watching the process from above. As soon as he saw that Red Hood had spotted him, Dick melted back toward the shadows.

That didn’t stop Jason from abandoning the scene to find his way to the rooftops.

Dick was still there, waiting for his arrival. A frown etched into his features. Jason never lied about a lot— sure, his feelings, his general well-being, the occasional fib about having somewhere to be, escaping family activities.

But this one felt like a punch to the gut.

Jason ripped his helmet off, the moment he arrived at the roof. Loud, heavy boots colliding with the concrete slabs, echoing in the cold air with his breath. Escaping in clouds of anger.

“Is that Arkham’s SWAT team?” Jason demanded, pointing down to the swarming groups of black Kevlar below.

Dick leaned back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. His eyes were whited out by his domino mask and for once, he was glad. Thankful Jason couldn’t see his whole face.

Because his jaw was set into a stern frown, but his eyes… he couldn’t be sure what they said. And Jason would know. He would know and he would twist his emotions to work in his favor.

Jason huffed, irritated by his brother’s silent treatment. He clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaked in warning.

“Dick, you know what people do in Arkham— she hasn’t done anything she didn’t have to do.” He insisted, stepping closer to his brother.

He resisted the urge to dominate over the shorter man— to loom over him and attempt to intimidate him with stature. It wouldn’t do any good, Dick was much too confident in himself to fall for that trap.

“She burned people alive, Jason. Committed arson and extortion.” He spat, lunging from his place. He ran a gloved hand through his hair, pacing for a moment. “I don’t see any of that as necessary.”

“Dick—“

“Jason.” He spun around, his face stern. Jason felt taken aback by the voice. His father voice. Even though Dick wasn’t a parent, sometimes it felt like he could easily assume the role. “You’re lucky you weren’t charged with aiding and abetting.”

His heart thudded, skipping beats.

Fuck.

Fuck— panic swelled in waves, quickly drowning his rationality.

He knew his family was trying to catch her, and that they found her. He just didn’t know how they found her— he thought he had hidden her well enough. And she followed his instructions and her instincts.

All that was left was them. The people hunting her down.

The people he had trusted.

Like a switch flipping, Jason felt all his panic simmer down into pure rage. It thrummed in his veins, settling like poison and stretching cloying fingertips to every last part of him.

“Were you…. You were using me to catch her?”

His voice was soft. Too soft. His eyes gleamed— a dangerous little spark Dick had seen directed at Bruce, and anyone that happened to get in his way. Dick clenched his jaw, exhaling through his nose. Steeling himself against the onslaught that was inevitable.

“We were doing what we had to.”

Jason scoffed, adjusting his stance; A disappointed grin stretched his lips, sharp teeth showing. His hands falling to his hips. His eyes stung, but he swore he wasn’t going to cry. Not now, not in front of Dick, who would immediately break down into tears himself and try to hold him.

Then the whole ‘incident’ would be talked through and the whole family would be involved. Nothing would be solved— Jason would still be angry, YN would still be in custody.

So, no; He didn’t want to talk it through. He wanted to give in to the fire burning against his sternum.

Because somehow, out of all the shit he had seen, things he had done, this was it. This is what stung and made his stomach queasy.

Like a baseball bat to the abdomen.

It felt so familiar. This is what could have happened to him. If it hadn’t been for Bruce and Dick, finding him and stopping the Knight, cleaning up his mess; Jason could have been the one in chains. Being carted off to Arkham.

If they could catch him, at least.

And now, here they were again, only this time, Jason was on the other side. Seeing the same, tragic storyline from the opposing team.

Because she wasn’t as fortunate.

Because she wasn’t a Wayne.

“So, all of this bullshit about giving people a second chance, that only applies to adopted children of billionaires, then? You only cared because it was me.” Jason determined, his tongue sticking into his cheek.

Dick froze, his eyes widening.

Just as he had assumed: Jason had taken his words and twisted them around.

“That’s not fair.” His voice hoarse. Emotions caught in his throat, choking him.

Something in Jason’s chest snapped.

“Yeah, well, look around, Dick. This city isn’t fair!” He shouted, his arms shooting out to reference where they stood.

“The best place for her right now, is where she is.” Dick replied, attempting to keep his voice steady.

Jason swallowed his laughter, though he couldn’t prevent the deprecating smile from tugging his lips. He turned around, facing the various flashing police lights. They had began to pack up and leave— YN was already gone. The SWAT trucks gone as well, leaving behind the police department to canvas and take care of her apartment.

“Would you have said the same of me?” Jason asked, softly.

Dick clenched his jaw. He wasn’t being fair.

They had different circumstances, different backgrounds. They were not the same.

He had fought so hard to save Jason because he knew he could be saved. Jason was a bright kid, with a blindingly bright future.

YN had been raised under the strict hand of a New York crime lord. Used her powers and abilities to harm those around her. So, no; No matter how many gift baskets he saw her give out to the homeless, it didn’t change the facts.

She attempted his brother’s life, several times. Endangered the lives of civilians, lit people on fire, destroyed and damaged properties, just to... to what? Gain power?

Take Red Hood’s network away? Kill him?

Or was her plan to entrap him; Laying all the blame to trace back to Red Hood.

Because if Jason had been caught with her, he would have been in the same predicament. And Dick didn’t know if he could have gotten him out of it.

Jason seemed to understand what the silence meant. He nodded, biting down on his bottom lip. Leaning down, he snatched his helmet and shoved it back over his head. Yanking a grappling hook from his belt, he secured his escape, and got away fast.

As soon as his feet left the roof, Dick felt his heart sink further— if it could go any further down.

He hated this.

Sure, he and Jason fought a lot— small, petty arguments that didn’t mean anything. ‘Who ate the last cookie?’ ‘Why are you in my apartment at three AM?’ ‘Could you stop holding Damian by his ankles over the balcony?’

This? This was a fight.

Something of this caliber hadn’t happened since the Knight’s reign over Gotham. Since Jason had Dick by the throat, pinned to the ground, spitting and snarling at Bruce.

Dick exhaled, shakily, leaning back against the wall.

This was ending in bloodshed and disappointment; For one, or the other.

“You ever get that blood stain out of your cape?”

Stephanie groaned, dramatically. Her sat her coffee cup down heavily; Barbara’s hand shot out in precaution, aiming to prevent a spill.

“No— it didn’t come out and I’m pissed.” The blonde complained.

Barbara hummed in commiseration, keeping an eye on the screens as she typed.

“You try lemon juice?” She suggested. Steph’s face screwed up, her lip raising.

“What?”

“Lemon juice. Let it sit for like fifteen minutes and then scrub it out with cold water.”

Stephanie frowned, her eyes narrowing. The way Barbara was sat, staring forward and busying herself seemed suspicious.

And Stephanie had pulled enough pranks on the other members of the Wayne family to know when she was being taken for a ride.

“Now I think you’re just making things up.” She declared, crossing her arms. Barbara scoffed.

“I’m not! Look it up—“

The door to the stairs blew open and footsteps pounded down the metal stairs. A flash of a leather jacket and red accents told them exactly who they were dealing with.

“Hi, Jason?”

Jason barely spared them a glance, anger evident on his face, as he posted himself beside the elevator. Waiting with his arms crossed.

“Fuck you people.”

The elevator doors opened with a quiet ding and Bruce stepped out. In the next moment, Jason was right back to pestering him. Practically begging at this point; It definitely left him bruised, but he would nurse his ego later.

“Bruce, this isn’t right. She was only doing what she had to.”

The Batman stopped, fixing his son into place with a blank stare.

Jason had tracked him down, staying on his heels, fussing and berating his adoptive father about LN.

There hadn’t been a moment’s peace or silence for an hour. At least.

“This whole time, you’ve seemed to know more than you let on.” Bruce stated, finally approaching his elephant in the Batcave. “Give me good, undeniable reason and I will talk to Flash and get her transported to their meta security.”

Jason swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing uncertainly. YN would forgive him if he told Bruce… she had to. She would see the logic. It was for her, after all. To get her out of the trouble he put her in.

He blinked. She wouldn’t forgive him. It was her information, her background. The things that she had scrubbed so throughly from the internet they didn’t even exist anymore. And that had taken hard work.

He couldn’t.

The less the Bats knew, the better. He would just have to take his chances.

“She isn’t looking for any more trouble. She was just on the run. Doing what she had to do.” Jason repeated, sticking by his original statements.

Bruce sighed, his lips pursing.

Jason knew immediately; It wasn’t enough.

“She still did them. She is still required retribution.”

Jason pushed his hands through his hair, heaving out a sigh. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, forcing his emotions back. Angry tears would help no one. Especially not himself.

His hands dropped and he let them fall to his sides as he shifted his weight over to his opposite side. Staring at Bruce’s feet for a moment.

“Do whatever you want, just don’t put her in Arkham. It’ll only make things worse.” He decided, shoving past Batman and making his way to the stairs.

Bruce called his name; Jason paused, hesitating by the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t turn. That message was strong enough.

“Is there a reason you’ve taken so strongly to this woman?” Bruce asked.

Jason’s chest seized. Anger flooding his veins again.

Of course. Of course Bruce thought he was sleeping with her. Because that’s the only way she was redeemable to him.

“I haven’t. I just know that she doesn’t deserve to be in that damned asylum.” He spat, climbing the stairs before he could be pulled back.

Bruce exhaled through his nose.

Jason had fallen in love. And he didn’t even know it yet.

“Are you changing her arrangement?” Stephanie asked. Barbara turned her chair around to face him, to listen to the conversation.

Bruce tugged the cowl from his head, his hair sticking up in different directions. Sweaty and disorganized.

He brushed a hand through his dark locks, slicking it back into a somewhat respectable style. His eyes still had the blackout makeup smeared around them.

“I can’t. I doubt Gordon would even entertain the idea.” He admitted. Guilt chewed at his stomach, though his mind was convinced he did the right thing. No matter how certain Jason felt about her. “The public is in a frenzy over LN and trying to shift the influence now would only cause hysteria.”

Stephanie’s lips parted, her mouth halfway open.

“This is the only thing Jason has ever asked you for. The only thing he’s even remotely felt, deeply, since he came back.” Barbara spoke up. Bruce clenched his jaw. “You’re taking that away.”

The whole team was slowly turning on each other. In the beginning of the hunt, most of them thought Bruce was right. Hell, even Bruce thought he was making the right decision.

But now… doubt was creeping into his mind. Jason was clouding his reasoning. His morals.

Barbara was joining Stephanie and Jason’s side; Dick and Tim seemed to be straddling the fence, the last he spoke with them. Damian was only with Bruce because he never disagreed with his father— too bent on his approval than the right thing.

The woman was dividing them at a time when they needed to be a front. A United team.

A family.

Bruce just wanted his family back together again. And as usual, he was managing to shove his foot into his mouth and destroy it all over again.

“I can’t sacrifice the public for one person.” Bruce finally stated.

His words were met with silence, until a sigh broke from the blonde before him.

“Y’know… sometimes, it’s alright to be selfish. To damn this city because all it ever does is take.” Stephanie frowned, picking up her phone and coffee cup from the desk. She began walking away, muttering back to them: “These people will always find a moral high horse to climb and look down on everyone else.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x f!reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #enemy fire

[author-morgan]

Hold up hold up ok so I got this idea that I LOVE the reader and eivors are not rivals but they don’t get along “ I’d rather die than kiss you” thingy is like- please accept this it has feel this kind of thrilling feeling

sorry it's taken so long, but here's this fluffy (?) little nugget m!Eivor x fem!Reader

HE’S NOT NEARLY as quiet as he believes himself to be —heavy footfalls lumbering along the cobbled streets. “All of England will hear us approaching if you keep that up,” you remark, sliding along the shadows silently. Eivor holds out his arms as though saying he cannot help it —he’s a warrior after all, not an assassin who lurks in the dark. You shake your head, annoyed, already knowing this quest will end in folly but pull him into the shrubs regardless. At least you’d be able to say you tried.

“Can’t believe Sigurd told you to come,” you lament, voice hardly a whisper. You didn’t need help, and Sigurd knows that. “I have this under control.” Everything was going swimmingly until Eivor Wolfsmal showed up at your camp uninvited —though you suppose Sýnin bears part of the blame for being the one to find you first. 

Eivor leans in, his gaze darting between you and the two guards patrolling the fortress walls. Two well-timed shots with your bows would take care of them without raising alarm. But it’s too tempting not to stoke the flames of the petty feud and competition that’s been raging between the two of you for years now. His breath tickles the back of your neck, making the hairs there stand on end. “Is that why I found you with a knife to your throat in an alleyway?” He whispers in your ear.

You turn to face him quicker than the crack of a whip. He’s impossibly close —there’s only so much room in the hedges to hide after all. The glint of mischief in his clear blue eyes is unmistakable, even in the dim light of the stars and moon. This is akin to a game to him, and the irritation etched into your frown and furrowed brows only make his lips quirk upward. “I said I had it under control, Eivor,” you snap, pressing against his shoulder. Even in the darkness, he can see the warmth flood your cheeks.

“Insufferable,” he grumbles, shifting. “Not even a modicum of gratitude.” A branch snaps under his foot.

“Quiet!” You hiss, covering his mouth with your hand. “The guards will hear if you don’t keep your trap shut.”

But it’s too late. “Oi!” A guard shouts, holding his torch aloft. “Who’s there?” The moonlight and flames catch the glint of metal on Eivor’s leathers and mail. “There in the bushes!” He cries, one torch turning to several, and then the fortress gates begin to creak as they’re raised. You dart out of the shrubs, pulling Eivor along and back toward the center of the city. “After them!” Behind you is the shuffle of boots, spears, and shields. 

“Well done, Eivor,” you remark, no shortage of scorn in your voice as you look back over your shoulder at him and the group of soldiers in pursuit. Standing your ground would only draw more attention, more men. You need to vanish.

Turning a corner, you almost run into a merchant with and his cart of apples, but Eivor reaches out, hand curling around your wrist, and pulls you into a dim crevice away from the main street and market. He presses you against the stone building —hands splayed out on either side of your head. You glance to the side, seeing the soldiers looking in the vendor stalls and under heaps of fabric. It is a good hiding place but not foolproof.

“Kiss me,” you say without thinking. Eivor stares at you, brows furrowed, mouth agape —unsure if he’d heard you correctly when you can barely tolerate his presence. But the look in your eyes is no jest. You want him to kiss you now, and your fingers twist into the leather baldric crossing his chest, tugging him closer. 

He won’t give you the satisfaction and turns his cheek in haughty distaste at the thought, even though his heart is racing at the thought of having your lips upon his. The soldiers are closing in. He flexes his fingers, wondering if he should just take up arms and carve a path to the city walls. “I’d rather die than kiss you,” Eivor says, gaze flitting back to you —his clear blue eyes betray him, but lingering softness does not take the sting from his words.

“Maybe that can be arranged,” you hiss, eyes cutting through him, “especially if you keep this–” But Eivor doesn’t give you a chance to finish the sentence. He cradles the back of your head with one hand. The other pressed into the curve of your back, and out of instinct, you twine your arms around his neck. His lips are soft and warm and gentle and move, just barely, against yours. When you do not pull or shy away, Eivor’s lips tug into a half-smile, and you are left to his mercy with a flutter in your chest.

Despite circumstance, his kiss is no less sweet than you’d imagined. The soldiers must have spotted the two of you because, in the haze of your mind, you hear an amused just two lovebirds and shared laughter among them. Eivor is the first to part, nigh breathless as he stares down at you. “Are they still there?” You ask, breaking him from his trance. 

“Just the two in the market now,” he responds, knowing you’re not in the clear just yet. Eivor takes too long to act this time, and you surge forward, pressing your lips to his again —it feels right. His hands fall to your hips this time, and the surprise of it elicits a low groan from the back of his throat. You slip your fingers into the hair at the back of his neck, though when you part to skim the market again, Eivor doesn’t bother looking. His focus is still on you —body humming from the shared kisses. He turns your gaze back to him and takes your lips again, just for good measure. Soft and slow. Gods, he thinks, this feels right. When you both part for a final time, the soldiers are gone. “How did you know that would work?” He asks, oddly breathless. 

“I didn’t,” you admit, rather sheepishly given the way you’d just kissed him, unable to hide the flush on your cheeks —you’re certain he can probably hear your heart pounding too, each beat like a hammer stroke from Thor. But then you smile, reaching up to card your fingers through his close-cropped beard. “You’re a good kisser, though,” you tell him, amused.

Eivor shakes his head, smiling. “Unbelievable,” he grouses, snaking his arms around your waist. You won’t get away from him so easily now. This time, there’s no urgency in his kiss, and he takes the time to savor the taste of honey and ale lingering on your tongue and lips. And he can’t help but think Sigurd knew what he was doing when he sent him after you.

[ taglist: @mrsragnarlodbrok @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @overratedsun @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @erzsebetrosztoczy @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @edelaen @darkravenqueen98 @callmemythicalminx @rhienn-lavellan-rutherford @certifiedlittleshit @queenyalo @thedragonqueenfan ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

#Eivor #Eivor Wolfsmal #Eivor x Reader #m!Eivor #m!Eivor x Reader #male Eivor #male Eivor x Reader #Eivor Imagine #Eivor Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Valhalla #Assassin's Creed #requested #anonymous #my writing #remember if you liked this pleases reblog it #the good ole public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable trope #also I use the bear playstyle so I just run in axes blazing stealth be damned

[bridges-to-ashes]

They had found themself a lot more uneasy than they were willing to admit, following a half-step behind David through the wide streets of Three Portlands; they had been there just once before, many decades earlier on a mission for the Foundation they could barely remember anymore, though the streets seemed more threatening then, empty and full of a kind of hatred they failed to find in the strangers passing by this time. Still, they stay close to the blind man and his dog, with Penny gently pressing herself against their leg from the other side, though their behavior is only met with vague amusement from David.

"You needn't be so scared", he says, half of the first word, together with the lightheartedness of his tone, being completely missed by Henry anyway. They only stare up at him in response, just for a few moments, before turning back to looking at the houses around.

They had given up on attempting to get any information out of him at this point.

The houses begin to shrink with time, becoming more spaced out and changing from apartment units to single family homes with small gardens. A nice area, really, the outskirts of such a large city, though it only makes them feel exposed and vulnerable under the bright light of the sun above, staring down at the two of them as they cross the street to take a turn left, and their hand instinctively seeks the handle of Penny's vest, holding her close as if she were to disappear suddenly.

A moment's pause, they slow their step ever so slightly just. David, of course, notices anyway, turning towards them, though much rather to listen than to see, himself remaining silent on his companion's hesitance much the same as on the sight infront, a long, one-story building with a sage roof and two pairs of greek-style pillars framing the small walk to the main entrance. Amphivena, a not quite familiar word, is written above the entrance in an old-looking font and dark green paint, crowned by an even less familiar creature, a snake with a head on each end, curling around itself and with a small torch resting where its foreheads meet, the flame gently flickering in the late-summer breeze.

David doesn't wait for their hesitance any longer and continues his stroll towards the building, passing the second set of pillars by the time Henry catches back up again, the younger man showing just enough manners to open the glass doors for him, their eyes just barely skimming over the paper signs that had been stuck to the glass from the inside, notes about keeping one's voice down and on wearing proper footwear - the latter of which David and his flip flops disregard, with Henry offering no comment on it. They likely wouldn't get paid to complain about those kinds of things, so why bother?

"Shelby!", David calls out into the entrance hall, his tone chipper as usual and far louder than requested. Another thing Henry mentally declared to not be their problem. Whatever.

The next person to appear, however, did make it her problem, crossing her arms over her white overcoat as the glass door to the left she had just entered through falls close behind her once more. David only smiles, raising his own hands in an apologetic motion before stepping aside slightly, away from Henry. They attempt to follow his motion, though the newcomer - Shelby, presumably - raises an eyebrow at this, making them stop and stand still where they are.

Unsure on what to do, they give an awkward half-wave towards her, slightly straightening their posture as she glances them up and down before her dark eyes finally land on Penny next to him.

"Service dog?", she asks, barely acknowledging their nod before adding on, "Fine with other animals?"

Another nod, then one from her in response, appearing satisfied. Without another word, Shelby turns away and heads back through the door she came through, leaving both of them behind; though seemingly not quite intending it as such, as David gestures for them to follow her, earning a mental curse from them for already making them run after someone again.

It doesn't take them too long to catch up again, with the building not giving them many options in the first place with only a straight hallway and, at its end, a sharp turn left, followed by another, shorter hallway. The door at the end of this one, one made of metal with the outline of a dog door traced towards the bottom, falls closed just as it comes into view for them, giving a good enough indication of Shelby's whereabouts.

As they push it open, however, the warm air they had just escaped by entering the building hits them once more - a sensation they are, very abruptly, distracted from once more as their eyes readjust to the sunlight outside, where they not only find the woman from before, but also a large, fenced backyard with a handful of trees, wild grass and a few puppy pools to match the climate.

All of those things, of course, and about two dozen dogs of wildly different sizes and breeds, all busy with a toy or a game or a snack of some sort and spread out across the area.

"Oh", they mutter quietly after a moment, drawing Shelby's attention away from one of the dogs - a fluffy, snow-white puppy with.. two, no, three heads? - and back to them. She raises an eyebrow at them, visibly surprised by their confusion, but unwilling to mention it herself.

"We recently got a new batch", she explains calmly, nodding down towards the sleepy puppy now resting one of its heads against her leg. "A mom, an older daughter of hers, and six puppies, just a week or two old."

They quietly nod along as she goes on, carefully approaching her with enough distance to not startle the young puppy, though they still attract the curiosity of a few older dogs nearby.

"We got them from a cerberus breeder somewhere in the 540s. Juno, one of our workers who is in close contact with the Hand, picked them up Friday."

She pauses, silently staring up at them from her crouched position on the floor, her fingers absent-mindedly brushing through the puppy's fluffy fur.

"Do you know how to mix puppy formula?"

#ember in the ashes #the other side of the coin • [ writings ] #[visible to anons only]

[mairmeetsmiraculous]

to appreciate a cat (noir)

A very fluffy Chat Noir appreciation day oneshot for International Cat Day.

Read on Ao3

Tags: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Needs a Hug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Gets a Hug, no beta we die like emilie, Chat Noir fluff, international cat day is now chat noir day, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Appreciation, LadyNoir, Platonic Marichat

Summary: A certain cat themed superhero is given a day full of respect and appreciation by his city and his friends, in honor of International Cat Day.

***

Mid-August was one of Chat Noir’s favorite times of year. Most of the locals found themselves on vacations with their families for at least a week or two, and the streets were littered with more tourists than people who would recognize him, or expect something from him. It was the perfect time to watch his city and go unnoticed.

And that was what he did, perched above the city on the peak of an apartment building. The late afternoon sun was bright on his back, and if he’d truly been a cat, he would have sprawled out under its rays long ago for a sweet afternoon nap. He yawned quietly, stretching his arms over his head and struggling to keep himself standing for a moment. When the yawn had passed, it left behind a dust of sleepiness and he leaned against the chimney behind him, tipping his head back to absorb the light for just a moment…

“-Noir! Chat Noir, are you okay?” echoed a familiar voice from down below him. His eyes blinked open, struggling to stay like that as he looked down.

“Alya?” he asked, stumbling a little as he pushed off from the chimney and slid down his staff to ground level. “How can I help you, good citizen?”

Alya rolled her eyes, raising a brow at him. “Are you alright? I called out to you several times,” she said, the concern in her expression wrinkling her forehead.

“Of course! Just resting my eyes,” he said, grinning. “Takes plenty of beauty rest to make these cat eyes look so good,” he added with a wink and a slight laugh, leaning against his staff at his side.

“Do you normally drool while ‘resting your eyes’?” she asked, a grin of her own slipping onto her lips as she pulled up a photo on her phone.

The screen contained an image of Chat Noir, slumped back against the chimney and slack-jawed, looking dead to the entire world, and sure enough, a trail of drool glistening at the corner of his lips.

Chat could feel his entire face flame up, redness flaring up from under his skin as he stared at the photo in horror. He swiped at the side of his mouth hastily. “Delete that, I am begging you, Alya,” he pleaded, reaching for her phone immediately.

She danced out of reach, backing up and holding her phone close to her chest. “Why? Scared a certain someone will see you slacking off on patrol? Or is it just that it’s an unflattering angle?”

“First of all, I have no unflattering angles,” he said, reaching out again for the phone only for her to dodge the attempt once again. “And second, we don’t even have any scheduled patrols, I’m out here for personal gain!”

Read the rest on Ao3!

#marimeetswriting #miraculous ladybug #chat noir #adrien agreste #ml fluff #ml oneshot #ml fanfic #ladynoir #platonic marichat #alya and chat noir are best buds #mywriting

[fallout-fallen-knight]

The following is an oral history of the god Chryslus, as recorded from one of Chryslus’s mechanopriests and transcribed by a Follower of Mobius, circa 2289.

“In the beginning, Chryslus was a weak god. He gifted his holy machines to mankind, but they were only able to power them with gravity and running water. He was bound by mankind’s impudence, and man did not see his true potential.

“Then, five hundred years ago, man discovered the twin gods - Combus and Evap. Chryslus saw that they could be useful, and approached them. Combus pledged to Chryslus’s right hand, and he made Evap his bride. Combus was a loyal general to Chryslus, and together the three gods devised a new engine to give to mankind, that Chryslus named in honor of his general: the Combus Engine. They spread their influence, building holy factories and workshops, the Combus engine a shrine within each.

“But Chryslus found that Evap’s contributions to the engine were not enough - the steam she contributed simply was not strong enough for what the Combus engine demanded. And so, Chryslus sought out a different fuel - and found one in Petro. Petro was a dark god, angry and vicious with an explosive temper, and when Chryslus approached him, Petro refused to kneel to Chryslus’s power.

“They fought viciously, Petro refusing to bow to Chryslus. He laid waste to Chryslus’s holy factories, destroying the engines within with explosive power. For every engine destroyed, Chryslus struck back at Petro again and again. It seemed that Chryslus might kill Petro when a new god arrived to the battlefield where they fought - a new god a thousand times more powerful than even Petro. This god was Atom.

“Seeing his own imminent destruction, Petro quickly swore fealty to Chryslus. Gathering his generals about him, Chryslus prepared to do battle with this new god. They met on the field of battle, and it quickly became apparent that Atom’s power vastly outweighed even the three gods combined. It laid waste to whole cities in the desert, towns obliterated in seconds under its mighty tread. It defeated Chryslus and his generals with ease, but when all hope seemed lost, Evap snuck up behind Atom and was able to bind him. Bound and weakened, Atom feigned fealty to Chryslus. But it had its own machinations.

A hundred years passed, and Chryslus’s great empire grew prosperous under Atom, Combus, and Petro. Evap tended to Atom’s bonds, ensuring his loyalty to Chryslus. But Atom bided his time, and one day, when he had finally had enough of Chryslus’s ruling, he sacrificed himself, splitting himself in two. The force of Atom’s destruction engulfed the world in flames. The ground itself became cursed, and plants refused to grow. The world was dead.

“Evap was lost in the explosion, and Petro gravely wounded. Chryslus himself barely survived, shielded in the seat of his power, the great city of De-roit. He spent a hundred years recovering, and as he did, he found mankind returning to De-roit, unafraid of the curse left behind on the bones of the city by Atom’s death. They found Chryslus in his holy factory, and many among them pledged themselves to his worship. Chryslus opened his factory to them, and they fervently studied the holy texts and diagrams held within. The most skillful among them became his mechanopriests, healers and wise men for a body of steel. They repaired the wounded gods, nursing them back to their former glory.

“As payment of thanks, Chryslus gifted his mechanopriests with bodies transcending the mortal form, with bones of steel and nerves of copper. They began to create engines in Chryslus’s image, drawing from the holy diagrams to make vehicles of their own, and soon, the streets of De-roit roared with the sounds of engines once more.

“But this new peace could not last forever. As Chryslus’s followers began to spread out of De-roit, they began to bring back word of heathens far to the west. In what had been a land known as California, a new nation was forming. They were making cars, though not in Chryslus’s image, and worse yet: they aimed to resurrect the dead god Atom, hoping to regain his former power. This frightened Chryslus. Though there were small cults to the east, these were isolated, generally not realizing that the god was dead, and that the curse laid by Atom’s death was not but a fraction of Atom’s true power. But a nation hoping to claim the power of Atom once more was troubling indeed. And so, Chryslus commanded his followers to build a massive city, one of steel and smoke, one that could bring Chryslus and his generals west to do battle with these heathens. This city would be called Motor City.

“All those who opposed the Motor City fell. The armored fools calling themselves the Brotherhood of Steel fought valiantly, but fell beneath the rubber tread of Chryslus. The lands known as Caesar’s Legion gave much resistance, but they too soon fell once their leadership was routed at Hoover Dam. Many of the Legion pledged themselves to Chryslus’s might, and onwards they marched, devising new machines by combining Chryslus’s technology with the vision of Rome. 

“Now Motor City finds itself at the edge of a desert. Beyond lies a highway, directly into the heart of the New California Republic, where heathens are playing with powers they do not and can not understand. We know what we must do, at the command of our gods. And all who stand in our way must perish.”

#queue #fallout new vegas #falloutfun #brave new world

[grabbedbag]

Thinking about Mono’s comic chapter

#a separate event from the school incident in my canon #he tried to make up for his actions in that event by aiding a pocket of runaways he’d manage to stumble across #they were weary of him seeing as he was fresh from the school but he was gradually welcomed into the group after his powers proved useful #it was a rather sturdy band of kids they had made a home for themselves in the husk of an abandoned apartment #he’d finally thought he found a place to be welcome and safe in #but of course wherever he goes disaster follows #the hide out was attacked and already present structural damage resulted in an electrical fire #there was panic with everyone rushing to flee from the strange skeletal arms snatching away their friends #as much as he loathed himself for running away the first time (leaving those who depended on him in danger) he found himself doing it again #this time excusing it as leading the monster away from the rest of the group #he cowarded within the broken tv cornered and out of options #this was the first time he managed to warp without the assistance of the television #found himself back on the streets of the city with the flaming building behind him #it was at that moment he knew he could no longer stay in this city #with a door as his raft he took to the water at the city’s edge and paddles until he found land once more #the woods was a nice change of scenery #💼 hcs

[heliads]

Crows

Everyone has a symbol on their palm that somehow relates to your soulmate. You have a crow, which led to you joining the Dregs in Ketterdam. Every Dreg has a soulmate symbol that in no way relates to you- except Kaz Brekker, as no one has seen his palm at all.

masterlist

You stare at the crow inked into your palm. It stares back at you.

You hesitate for a second longer, then snap your hand shut, letting the unblinking eyes of the black bird disappear back behind your fingers. This is the price of a soulmate, of wandering too far from your home and never finding the one person you were meant to belong to. This is the price of being a canal rat, a Grisha, of being anybody still foolish enough to believe in a soulmate in the midst of all this darkness.

Soulmates may technically be real, but people only believe in them as much as they do Inej’s Saints, or anybody else’s long-held dreams. Between the wars and Shadow Folds springing up across the world, it’s getting pretty hard for anyone to find their soulmate at all. It’s supposed to be simple- one mark on each person’s palm to designate their soulmate, a mark that will disappear at the first touch of their hand on yours. Sometimes, you wonder what mark would be on your soulmate’s skin: a flame or sparking coal, maybe, for your branch of the Small Science, or a skull, for all the death that seems to shadow your path.

The crow has been on your palm for as long as you can remember, as long as anyone has ever had a soulmate. It was there when you were born, but judging by your trend in luck, it’ll probably be there until the day you die. Soulmates aren’t for girls like you, girls who flee their homes to trade a life amongst the Grisha for a death in the gray-streaked streets of Ketterdam.

You were born an Inferni, that much is true. You witnessed the Ravkan civil war, and you were there to flee it for safer tides. You weren’t sure what cruel twist of fate landed you in Ketterdam, one of the worst places for a Grisha, but you were at least able to keep your identity a secret. You’d seen what happened to the luckless Grisha trapped inside neverending indentures, and you know what tortures would await you if word of your firestarting habit got out. So, you never spoke a word, and pretended you were just another otkazat’sya traveler in need of safe harbors.

You hadn’t been wandering the canals long before your path turned into the Barrel. It wasn’t an intentional choice, just an eventual fate that you would end up in the worst part of the twisting sidestreets. There was no escaping the Barrel, not unless you were a wealthy mercher or some other lucky sap who the Saints blessed with the ability to avoid getting dragged down into the muck like everyone else. You learned the names and locations of all the gangs like everyone else: Black Tips, Dime Lions, and most notably, the Dregs.

Your breath had caught in your chest when you heard of them. They frequented the Crow Club, some were called the crows themselves, their leader had a crow on his cane. Everything seemed to point in a glaringly obvious arrow towards your soulmate mark: a crow for a crow. Where else could you have ended up?

You knew better now. You had met Kaz Brekker, the boy with the crow cane, and you knew that any chance of finding a soulmate among his crew was near impossible. You had been walking home after dark one night when you found yourself set upon by a duo of thugs. Not Dregs, possibly Dime Lions with a bone to pick, angry that the Dregs had such control over the pigeons of Fifth Harbor. They had been expecting an easy mark, somebody they could thunk over the head with a pair of brass knuckles and walk away without a scratch. They weren’t expecting you to beat them into the dust in a matter of seconds.

No matter your status or location, you were still a Grisha, and you’d been trained by Botkin long enough to be able to defend yourself. When the goons were finally laid at your feet, unconscious, you had allowed yourself a moment to smile. It was easy to feel low, a gutter rat in the canals of Ketterdam, but being able to use your fists again almost reminded you of the training halls at the Little Palace.

Enjoying this one brief memory, though, was a slip that you shouldn’t have made. When you looked up, you weren’t alone- a boy stood before you, gloved hands clasped over a crow’s head cane. You didn’t particularly know who he was, or make the connection between him and the Dregs, and moved to get out of the alleyway before he decided to make the same mistake as the thugs. He had slid his cane in front of you, fast as lightning, stopping you in your place. “I think we should speak about your future in Ketterdam.”

You were annoyed at this sudden interruption. “I think you should leave me alone.” You had retorted, using your hand to move his cane back in front of him. You had also been irritated, both by the fight and this boy’s brashness, and slipped your hand into his pocket for just a second to retrieve a newly shined pocketwatch. No one could have possibly seen it, this tiny movement, and the boy certainly didn’t, as he let you pass without another word.

You were still grumbling when you got back to the ramshackle building you called an apartment complex, and your landlady had raised an eyebrow when she saw you. “What, have you finally realized that it was a fool’s errand to come here?” She asked, and you shook your head. “No, just bothered by some guy with a crow’s head cane. Weird prop to carry around.” The woman had blanched, face suddenly seeming to age a decade in a second.

She had bustled over to you, voice low as if terrified that the boy might be able to hear her. “That’s Kaz Brekker, you fool. He runs the Dregs. Saints, he might even run this city.” She had hurried away from you then, forcing herself back to her work. Even then, you had known she was wrong. There was nothing the Saints could know about Kaz Brekker, nothing they could even hope to involve themselves in.

You had shaken the experience away, climbing up the stairs to your apartment. When you pushed open the door, however, you saw that you were not alone. The boy from earlier was back, this time leaning against the far wall. He gestured for you to close the door, which you did, albeit hesitantly. You had no idea how he got in- you had changed the locks when you first arrived at the apartment all those weeks ago, barred the windows, made it impossible for anyone except you to make their way inside. Yet here he stood, with knowledge of both where you lived and how to get there before you. It was impossible. Well, impossible for anyone except Kaz. The Barrel was his home, after all, and you doubt Dirtyhands had ever bothered to knock.

His fingers tapped the crow’s head of his cane. “I don’t think we quite finished our conversation. You could do more than just wash dishes, you know. The Dregs could always use a new member. That, and I’d like you to return what you stole from me. I’m impressed, actually. No one is that good at pickpocketing except me, and no one would try something that daring except for, well, me. I think you’d fit in nicely with my gang.”

You had folded your arms across your chest. “And I’m meant to believe that my pickpocketing was impressive enough to warrant a visit from Dirtyhands himself?” Kaz had shrugged, the movement stiff in the darkness. “You can believe whatever you want. I just want to see if you’ll take a good offer when you see one.” After a while, you had accepted, and Kaz had left, but not before whispering something in your ear. “If you steal from me again, I will cut off both of your hands. I don’t tolerate theft, not from me.”

You had heard enough threats to know that he meant good on this one. As it turned out, however, Kaz would not have to fear theft from you again. You found a home amongst the Dregs, a home you weren’t likely to give up due to the thrill of pickpocketing Kaz Brekker. You had a room at the Slat, a place at the table, a voice in the masses. It was something you weren’t willing to trade away.

Even amongst the many crows of Kaz Brekker’s gang, however, you still couldn’t let the issue of your soulmate go. You can remember one night, late into the night’s bells when you, Inej, Jesper, Matthias, and Nina had all made the journey up to Kaz’s office, slumped against chairs and floorboards and chatting the night away. Kaz was sitting at his desk, apparently doing paperwork, but you did notice that he kept coincidentally chiming into conversations even when he said he wasn’t paying attention.

At some point, Nina steered the conversation to soulmates. She held up her now blank palm, proclaiming that at some point it had held a wolf’s head. She had been terrified, she said, terrified that she would have a drüskelle or some other weirdo for a soulmate. Matthias had acted affronted at that, but if he was feeling particularly charitable he might relent and tell the gathered Crows about how he’d had a heart on his hand, and how frustrated he’d been when it had disappeared the second he’d locked Nina away on that slaver’s ship.

Nina had turned to Kaz then, intent on poking the bear and having some sort of fun that night. “So, Brekker, what’s your soulmate mark? Or do you not do that sort of zealot human thing we call soulmates?” Kaz had raised his eyebrows, looking distinctly bored. Of everyone in the room, you’re pretty sure that only you and Inej would be able to tell that he was holding back a smile.

“I’m not entirely a monster, Zenik. I do have a soulmate.” Nina had leaned forward, intent on clarification. “Then what’s the mark? We can’t just take a gander at your palm, remember? They’re hidden by your gloves.” Kaz had let his papers fall back to the desk with a thunk, turning to her with an expression laced with both exasperation and studied disinterest. “It’s a fire. A small flame. Happy?”

Nina had looked fascinated. “Beatific. I wonder what that means. An Inferni, maybe?” She wiggled her eyebrows at Kaz. “Maybe it’s supposed to show that they’re devilishly attractive. Really hot, get it?” Kaz had made a sound that was either a dry cough or his best attempt at a laugh. “Hilarious, Nina. I see why you’re a Heartrender- you could make a person want to die based on your jokes alone.”

Nina had acted affronted, making sure everybody knew that her jokes were hilarious, thank you very much, but you couldn’t help but think about the repercussions of this. What if Nina’s first guess was right, and Kaz’s soulmate was an Inferni, like you? If your tattoo was of a crow, and Kaz’s was of flames, then surely it was too much to just be a coincidence. You’d never know, anyway, because soulmate marks only disappeared on flesh to flesh contact. Kaz always wore gloves, so you’d never find out the truth. Besides, you remind yourself, the chances of this were superbly unlikely. A crow could mean anything, so could a flame. You need to stop getting your hopes up.

Despite the possibilities and impossibilities, you’ve still been running with the canal rats long enough to know that you can’t dwell forever on what might have been. You’re a Dreg now and you need to focus on that instead. When Kaz announces an upcoming settlement with the Razorgulls, yet another one of the gangs that roam the streets of Ketterdam, you’re eager for a chance at something entertaining after a long while of nothing. Kaz will meet with the leader to negotiate their way through a claim on the various pigeons coming and going from the harbors, and that will be that.

However, this is the Barrel. Negotiations are rarely easy. This is why, when Jesper arrives as Kaz’s second, he’s shunted aside to a separate room to stay out the duration of the meeting. Kaz and the leader of the Razorgulls are on the opposite side of the street in an empty courtyard, far away from any help should they need it. Kaz was prepared for this, as always, and set up a plan. Inej will shadow Jesper, making sure that he’ll have a way out if he needs it, and you’ll be shadowing Kaz himself. You’re not sure why Kaz chose you instead of his faithful Wraith, only that he rarely makes decisions based on nothing and you would do best to follow his judgement. The times he’s let you down are few and far between.

You and Inej split up, staying amongst the rooftops to avoid detection. She follows Jesper and the Razorgulls’ second into a crowded tavern, and you head towards the abandoned courtyard. Ahead of you, Kaz’s cane taps against the crooked cobblestones as he wends through desiccated hedges and marble statues severely lashed by time. The Razorgulls’ leader is waiting for him there, but you can’t follow now. Instead, you stick to the edges, climbing stairs and making your way into the empty buildings that watch over the courtyard like silent sentries.

You’re not sure what trouble you’ll be walking into, only that it will exist in some crooked form. There’s no logical reason the Razorgulls would want the seconds in another building unless they were planning something, and no reason Kaz would agree to this at all if he wasn’t sure you could have his back when he needed it. As you creep along the buildings, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings through the few broken windows, you notice that the two gang leaders have begun to speak. You can’t quite hear what they’re saying, only a few whispers here and there.

You’re just rounding a corner, ready to make your way into a neighbouring building, when the lights flash off, landing you in darkness. Instantly, you panic. Lighting is scarce here, only the moonbeams and a couple of oil lamps, but there’s no reason they should have shut down this quickly. You hear footsteps on the stairs, along with two pairs of voices: Razorgulls, discussing how important it is to stick to the shadows so Brekker can’t see them.

Your heartbeat thuds in the dark as you realize they haven’t spotted you yet. In fact, they have no idea you’re there at all. When Kaz was giving directions for the negotiations, he specifically told you to make sure that you weren’t seen, even if rival gang members showed up. If you want to go along with his plan and make sure he lives to see the end of this shoddy deal, you’ll have to stay in hiding.

This, however, is easier said than done. If the lights were on, you would be able to see the wooden beams of the floor and tell which ones would creak and which wouldn’t, which large shapes of furniture to avoid and which holes in the floorboards you should step over. A chill washes over you as you realize what you’ll have to do. You move your fingers together, quick as scraping flint against steel, and a small flame materializes at the pad of your index finger. It’s small, barely visible to anyone except you, but it’s enough to help you get out of the room before the Razorgulls notice you.

Even as the thrill of using your Grisha power after so long sends a charge of energy through your veins, you can’t help but feel uneasy. The only reason you’ve been able to survive in the Barrel and avoid unwholesome indentures is because you never used your power, not once. Even if it was necessary, this still feels bad.

You’ve found a new hiding place in the corner of the room and move to extinguish your flame now that it’s no longer useful. However, it’s been too long since you last used your powers as an Inferni, and your concentration wavers. The flame grows brighter and you start to panic, eventually clamping down your mind and forcing the fire to disappear.

The disappearance comes too late. The Razorgulls have seen some light in the shadow that wasn’t supposed to be there and are now edging your way, careful not to let you out of their sight. You have no choice but to take them down, standing over their unconscious bodies and feeling a wave of nerves crest over you. Kaz specifically said not to mess with the gangs, but you had no choice. You can only hope that this won’t ruin his plan too much.

Quietly, you step through the room and unlock a window, letting the panes move open in the wind. Now, you can hear the voices echoing up from the courtyard, and your heart sinks as you realize that things aren’t going well. The leader of the Razorgulls has revealed his ace in the hole, that he’s got guns trained on Kaz right now. Kaz just laughs, the sound as cold as rocks scraping against a ship’s hull, ready to damn a hundred men to the depths of the ocean.

“Do you, though? Who are the men you sent up- Dirk Struik and Niels ter Avest? Your coffers may be deep, but mine are more extensive. Gentlemen, take down this man, if you please.” Your stomach twists as you realize Kaz was counting on the men you just knocked out. Without them, he’s alone with a man pointing a gun at his skull. There’s no way around this- you’re going to have to break your most cherished rule again.

You thrust your palms out in front of you, letting tendrils of flame arc out of your hands and cascade onto the leader of the Razorgulls. He twists in agony, burns appearing on his skin. He only suffers for a moment or two, however, until he becomes unconscious due to the pain. Kaz’s head jerks up, staring at you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Kaz Brekker truly surprised, but he most certainly was not expecting this.

You don’t think there’s anything you can do except try to explain yourself. You jump down from the open window, letting your heels land lightly on the stones of the courtyard. Kaz seems frozen in place for a second, then moves forward until you’re standing only a few feet apart. Your breath comes wild in your chest. Kaz speaks after the longest of moments. “Where were the guards?”

You hold up your hands uselessly. “They saw me. I had to take them out.” Kaz’s eyes dart to your palms, faster than a sharpshooter pulling the trigger. He takes in the smoke still curling around your fingers, then the crow mark in the middle of your hand. When he speaks again, his voice has lost its icy edge. He just sounds like a boy again, young and confused.

“You never told me you were an Inferni.” You sigh. “It was a secret I needed to keep. You know what happens in the Barrel, the indentures and the tortures. If I used my powers, I would have died a long time ago.” Kaz jerks his head in a harsh nod. “I don’t blame you for surviving. We have all committed worse crimes to live” Your voice gains a confidence it didn’t have before. “Then what do you blame me for? You’re upset, anyone could tell that. If it’s not with me keeping my Grisha abilities a secret, then what is it?”

Kaz hesitates, as if pulling himself back from a yawning chasm. “Me.” You stare at him, at the indecision wracking his brow, then at the way he’s pulling at the glove at his palm. His hands almost seem to shake, like he’s still not sure that he’s doing the right thing. He pulls the glove off, inch by inch, seeming to dread every second that his hands aren’t covered by the black leather. At last, you see it- the mark on his palm, the flame sparking into being right there on his hand.

He reaches out tentatively. “I need to know.” He manages, and at last you understand. You move your own hand slowly, stopping when it’s only a few inches away from his. Kaz squares his shoulders, as if preparing to jump from another broken building, then closes the distance and lets his hand rest lightly on yours. As you watch, your soulmate tattoos shimmer for a second and then vanish, erasing from your skin as if they’d never been there at all.

Kaz lets his gaze linger on the empty skin of your palm, and then he seems to come back into himself, snatching his hand away like he’s flinching from a blow. You can see it in his eyes that he regrets this, that he can’t keep his hand there, but you understand. You can understand quite a lot from him.

Kaz’s voice is like the grating of metal. “I’m not somebody you want as a soulmate. It won’t be easy. It won’t be good.” You laugh quietly in the night. “If I wanted something easy, I would have never come to Ketterdam.” Kaz nods at this, something almost like relief in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” You manage. Something almost like a smile flits across Kaz’s face. “Good. We have much to discuss.”

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker imagines #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker oneshot #grishaverse #grishaverse imagines #grishaverse oneshot #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagines #shadow and bone oneshot #six of crows #six of crows imagines #six of crows oneshot #kaz #kaz imagines #kaz x reader #kaz oneshot #soc #sab #soulmate au #soc imagines #soc oneshot #sab imagines #sab oneshot

[theringers]

marked up - charles leclerc

summary: you meet him at a club & take him home, but it turns out you both like to be in charge

warnings: 18+ NSFW, lots & lots, read at ur own risk, rough sex

You were surrounded by the loud boom of the DJ and the sweaty bodies of your friends as you all danced together in the club. You had been vacationing in London and met up with a group of guys at the club.

You had taken a liking to one of them, stealing glances across the room and winking whenever he got the opportunity to.

He walked over to you and held out his hand. “I’m Charles,” he said. “Great to meet you.”

You introduced yourself to him and continued talking. You learned about what he does for a living and where he’s from and you shared the same information about yourself with him.

Later in the night, the club began to get packed with more people. You would think that the crowd would die down the later it got, but apparently it’s the opposite.

He leaned in and whispered in your ear. "What do you say we get out of here?"

You nodded, at a loss for words. You’re never at a loss from words after that much alcohol. He grabbed your hand and slowly led you towards the exit of the club, hoping to not cause a stir with your group.

You pass the bouncer and give him a wave as you leave and start to follow the streets of London. You never knew how beautiful this city could truly be. You were unsure in the moment of whether it was the alcohol in your system or the hand you were holding.

You could tell Charles had a bit to drink as well. You continued to hear him speak French under his breath here and there, even though he knew you didn't speak it. You giggled and looked at him which caught his attention. "What's so funny?" He smiled.

You shook your head slowly. "Nothing. You're cute, that's all." You directed your gaze back down to the sidewalk.

He muttered under his breath again, but this time it was definitely English. "I'm not gonna be cute in a couple minutes now," he said quietly, and laughed.

"What was that?" You asked, hoping to get him to repeat himself so you could acknowledge what he said. Instead, he just shook his head and kept walking.

The streets of London were still surprisingly packed at this hour. Friends wandered down streets and alleyways laughing like this was a regular night for them. This certainly felt like a regular night out for you, but you felt safer even despite your state of inebriation.

Charles looked just as in awe of the surroundings as you did. "Is this your first time in London?" He asked. His hand was still tangled with yours when he began to swing your arms back and forth like a child.

"Yes, actually. And it's living up to my expectations for sure." You smiled at him.

"I'm glad it is. I've been here a few times," he stopped and stumbled over his own feet, almost bringing you to the ground with him.

You broke out in laughter and clapped your hands together as he looked at you in shame. You almost felt bad until he began to laugh as well. Charles stood up, dusted himself off, grabbed your hand, and continued walking down the lit street.

He pointed forwards at a hotel entrance with his free hand and led you inside. The bright lights and white decor shocked your eyes before entering the elevator. He pressed the floor button as you descended up to his room. You weren’t sure what to say in this moment and you could only hope that the silence was comforting to him. You looked around the elevator, seeing things move around inside your eyes and trying to focus. Convincing yourself that you're sober is pretty difficult when you're not.

The door opened and you followed him through the carpeted halls. He grabbed a key out from his pocket and swiped it to open the door. "Home sweet home, baby." He gestured to the room as you walked in. As soon as the door closed, you felt a different energy from him. His eyes looked hungry as he looked your body up and down. You took a step backwards, against the door and did the same to him, finishing your glare at his face, focused on his lips.

"You are so sexy," he said, taking a step forward. His hand found your cheek before his lips crashed to yours.

You turned your head slightly, kissing him back. Your free hands went to his hair, pulling on his locks with need. He tasted incredible, even after a long night of drinking. You pulled his head away from your lips and down to your neck as he sucked on your skin. There was definitely going to be marks tomorrow.

His mouth lifted from yours and he spoke breathlessly. "Are you trying to get me to mark you up?"

You smirked. "Would it be the worst thing?"

He was just as devilish as you were. "Absolutely not." He made his way back to your neck. His hands trailed down your body, reaching the hem of your dress. His hand snaked under the hem and went to your backside. "You have an incredible ass," he said between kisses. Your eyes rolled back into your head as you felt that intense feeling growing in your abdomen. You pushed him back and took a few steps towards the bed before pushing him again onto the soft white comforter.

You straddled his lap. Your dress rolled up your legs and eventually rested around your waist leaving you bare. His hands found your ass again as you kissed him roughly. He pulled your body closer to him and you began to rock back and forth on his lap. "Shit, baby," he said between kisses. "I want you to ride me."

A smile formed across your face. "We don't always get what we want now do we?" You continued the motion on his lap, grinding harder and faster. You knew you were driving him crazy and it was getting to be too much for him to handle. He grabbed you and flipped you around so he was on top.

"I don't want you to think you're the one in control now, baby." He looked down at you with lust. You pulled him in for another kiss, but he resisted. He backed up off of the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt before tossing it to the side.

His lips found your legs as he began kissing up your body and crawling closer to you. His hand dipped into your underwear as he reached your inner thighs.

His fingers began tracing circles around your clit, sending shockwaves through your body. It had been months since anyone touched you like this. You tried to speak but the only thing that came out was a moan. His fingers lit your body up into flames.

"That's right," he said. A finger slowly found its way towards your entrance before slipping inside.

"Fuck," You moaned.

He followed suit. "I love to hear you moan for me baby." He entered another finger inside of you, hitting you in just the right spot. You rolled your eyes back, being shocked again when you felt his mouth on your clit.

You looked down to see his head buried between your thighs, going to work with intensity. "Jesus, Charles," You threw your head back again. He continued to work your body close while your legs wrapped around his back. You arched your back as you could feel something building inside of you. A moan escaped your lips followed by a few expletives.

His fingers worked inside of you and his tongue lapped around your core. He looked up at you, making eye contact while continuing all of these motions. He might be the hottest man you’ve ever seen in this moment.

He quickly sent you over the edge and you tried to recover before you pulled at him to get on the bed. Again, he resisted. "Baby, I'm in charge tonight." He flipped your body around so you were on your stomach. A sweet stinging sensation was felt on your ass as he grabbed your hips and pulled you up on all fours.

You heard the sound of foil ripping and he was soon inside of you. His pace was hard and rough and he felt so good inside of you.

Your arms felt like they were going to give out, so you leaned your head down on the bed as he pounded into you from behind. A low growl escaped his throat as you felt your head being tugged back up by your hair.

"Shit, you feel so good," he said with one hand gripping your ass and the other holding your hair in a makeshift pony tail.

"Fuck," You moaned, your body rocking back and forth before you began to feel that familiar feeling again. "Charles-" A hard smack on your ass stopped your speech but ultimately sent you over the edge.

He continued to work inside of you before his pace quickened and eventually slowed.

Your body fell onto the bed in exhaustion as he walked to the bathroom to clean up.

-

You woke up the next morning with an arm draped over your side. You turned behind you to see a peaceful Charles still asleep. You didn't want to wake him but your head was spinning. You tried to get out of his grip but he eventually started to stir awake. "Good morning beautiful," he said in a rugged morning voice.

You smiled at him as you pulled the covers up and walked towards the bathroom. You passed the full length mirror, noticing my naked body covered in purple and red marks. Your hair was a mess but somehow your makeup was still intact.  You looked towards Charles on the bed and saw him already staring at you with a smirk on his face. "Look at you," he said.

You shook your head and laughed. "I'm going to hop in the shower real quick."

He promptly jumped out of bed. "I'll join you if it's alright?" He asked.

You nodded to him and started the shower, the bathroom filling with steam. He walked into the bathroom behind you and got a closer look at your body. "I think seeing you marked up by me is getting me hard again."

You turned around and looked at him before dropping to your knees. "Well, why don't we do something about that."

#charles leclerc #charles smut #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #cl #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 imagine

[serzhantkris]

Haunted- 9

Summary: He knew, from the moment he found her there, bathed in the glow of fire, that she would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Damon Salvatore x Reader

Masterlist

Taglist Open

Word Count: 1634

1882

Snow crunched beneath Damon’s merciless steps as he made his way through Chicago. It was falling harder now, laying a thin blanket of white over the deep brick and metal of the city, sinking between cobblestones and etchings. His chest heaved as he carried himself at a human pace, eyes scanning, searching desperately. Each passing moment made him more frantic, more panicked than he had been when he had seen Sister Mary Eunace’s face.

She’s run away.

Damon stopped as a carriage crossed his path, and allowed himself a moment to collect his thoughts. It was cold, so much that he could feel it in his knuckles as he flexed his hands. He wanted to break something, to hit something, to demand to know where the eleven year old girl had gone, and was she safe. Was she alive?

She had to be. This was what kept him moving, kept his eyes alert as he tried desperately to think of where a little girl would run away to. As far as he knew, she was cold, alone, afraid—

But, oh, she was clever. She was a clever little girl, and clever girls were smarter than Damon was giving her credit for. The carriage passed, but he didn’t move, letting the calm of falling snow ease his exhausted brain.

Damon turned on his heel, moving back toward the convent, back to where she had been, so that perhaps he could see it again, see it from her eyes, think like her.

He was standing outside the convent moments later. The Sister had said she’d left in the night, so there were no footprints, his intuition was the only thing left on his side.

She would go left. To the right led straight into the poorer district of town, and while she may blend in, she would also run the risk of harm from drifters much bigger than herself. So Damon went left.

He kept moving, calling her name to the wind, ignoring the curious gazes of passersby until he came upon a bridge, under which a barrel burned. He approached with caution as several faces, hidden beneath tattered cloth and dust, made note of him.

“I’m looking for someone,” he said. Many of them dropped their eyes, eagerly stretching their hands over the flames. “A little girl.”

“No little girls here,” one of them said, turning his back on Damon. He seized the man by the shoulder, yanking him back around.

“A little girl,” he repeated, the irises of his eyes swelling. “She’d be in a brown and white apron dress, or bedclothes- tell me, have you seen her?”

The man seemed to consider it for a moment, then pointed toward the end of the street, where the sun was hidden behind buildings. Damon pushed around him, eyes scanning the shadowy road.

There. Bundled in a torn blanket, the edges frayed and kissed with snow, she was huddled against a wall between two buildings, her head ducked low. Her body shook as she tried to pull the blanket closer, and Damon sped toward her so quickly that the snow on the street swirled behind him.

On his knees, Damon reached for her, pulling the blanket off her head just enough to see her face. Her lips were blue, her nose running, and tears glistened on her cheeks. “Lilian,” he breathed, pulling her into his arms. She blinked up at him, perplexed.

“D-D-Damon?”

He held her against his chest, her head lulling on his shoulder, and lifted her so that her legs swung over one arm. She was indeed in her bedclothes, without shoes, and Damon had not considered until now that her running away had been an impulsive decision.

“I have you,” he said, carrying her toward where an orange glow illuminated from the window of a house. He rapped hurridly on the door, his head low.

The door opened wearily, just a crack, and a gruff, large man with a red beard peered out at Damon.

“Invite me in,” he said. “Now.”

“Come in.”

Damon shouldered his way past the man, moving directly for the fire. The man followed, unsure but curious, as Damon carefully sat Lilian in front of the fire. He turned toward the man, meeting his eye. “Bring me socks. And a blanket. The biggest one you’ve got.”

The man left, obedient, as Damon tugged the blanket wet with snow off of Lilian’s body.

“Charles?”

A woman had appeared in the kitchen doorway, a small child clinging to her leg. The man returned, giving Damon the items requested. He carefully brushed the snow from Lilian’s feet and pulled on the socks, too large for her feet but good enough to reach over her calves, and the man frowned down at Damon.

“Who are-“

Damon stood, resting his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Water. Warm, not hot, and rags. Go.”

It took time, but soon he was dipping rags into the water and patting Lilian’s exposed skin, quickly wiping the dampness away once she was warm. Slowly, one spot at a time, he could feel the heat return to her body. In all that time, she hadn’t said a word.

“Leave,” he said to the man. “Take your family, and go. Don’t come back.”

He wasted no time in watching as the man did as he was told, sinking back to the floor to wrap Lilian in the blanket. He pulled her into his lap, smoothing her hair back as the light returned to her eyes. Her lips regained their color, and though her nose still sniffled, her tears were gone.

He sat, very still, in front of the fire, listening to the patter of her heart and the snapping of embers, until she let out a deep sigh against his chest.

“That was a very silly thing to do, flower,” he said, voice quiet. In the fireplace, a piece of wood snapped, sending sparks up the chimney.

“I know,” she said. “Not very clever.”

Damon’s lips twitched in a smile. “No, not clever at all. What were you thinking?”

She sat up, wriggling in his grip, and he let her go so that she could ease herself onto the floor beside him.

“I- did not think,” she admitted. She was more disappointed in herself than Damon was. “But I couldn't stay even another day.”

Damon considered this, as he rose to his feet. “I’ll find you something to eat,” he said.

“Damon?”

She was so small, curled up in a quilted duvet for a bed much too big for her, the firelight spilling across her cheeks and her shadow stretching across the wooden floor.

“Please,” her voice cracked, her fingers tightening around the blanket as though it would shield her from whatever had her so frightened. Her lip quivered, and fresh tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. He could hear it in her heartbeat, see it in the way her brow pulled with worry. “Please don’t take me back.”

***

He had found bread on the table in the kitchen. The house didn’t have much, he learned quickly, but there was enough, and the wife had been boiling chicken bones for broth, a process Damon had never done himself, but was easily completed. She had been grateful, either way.

She was still in front of the fire, beside him, sipping slowly from the cup he’d pulled from the cabinets, her knees pulled to her chest.

Damon had never considered, until this moment, what Lilian’s life had been when he was not there. He saw her but once a year, for the past five years, but saw and knew little else of the life of orphaned children. But he should have known, should have remembered the sound of a switch snapping against tender knuckles the first time he had seen her.

“I finished Dracula,” she said, breaking the silence.

“Did you enjoy it?”

She sipped loudly from the cup, then sat it gingerly on the floor in front of her. “When he died,” she said slowly. “He was happy. He had gotten what he really wanted, after all.”

“He was,” Damon said, frowning. “He found peace, as we all do, eventually.”

“Did you ever find her? Your Katherine?”

Damon shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. “No,” he said. “I’m still waiting.”

“How long will you wait?”

“As long as it takes.”

“And if it takes a hundred years?” She looked up at him, knowingly, and he realized- very, very clever little flower. Rather than fear, or disappointment, or pain, he felt only relief. It washed over him, warmer than the fire, warmer than the quilt over Lilian’s shoulders.

“Lilian-”

“I’m still not afraid,” she said, sitting up straighter. The quilt fell down over her shoulders, pooling around her back. “Of- Of Dracula. Or you.”

He reached for the blanket, lifting it back up over her shoulders, keeping his arm around her. She wiggled closer, her side pressed to Damon’s. “How long have you known?”

“Since you gave me the book.” Lilian leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. “I don’t suppose I’d want to be a vampire.”

The thought of it churned Damon’s stomach. “You’d be a child forever,” he said.

“That does seem unfavorable,” she said. “I should think it would be lonely, and perhaps I would grow tired of living so long, as a child or otherwise.”

She had no idea how right she was.

“Are you going to take me back?”

Damon’s arm tightened, pulling her closer. He could smell the soda-ash soap in her hair, and for the first time since he’d arrived in Chicago, he was calm.

“No.”

“No?” She perked up, looking up at him, hopeful.

“We’ll stay here, you and I,” he said, pressing his lips tenderly against her forehead. “I’ll take care of you.”

@navs-bhat @allinhishands @suspiciousmuffin @lordofthunderthr

@hereforsumbucky

#damon salvatore #x reader #x you #elena gilbert #tvd #ian somerhalder

[scrabble--drabbles]

Soulmark Au - First Words

Pairing: Diluc x gn!reader

Contents/Warnings: Fluff, sfw, reader has a word written on their wrist, reader is not from Monstadt

Word Count: ~1.3k

A/N: I'm a sucker for soulmate AUs! This is my take on the Soulmark- First Words trope. Idk what the "classic" trope is, but 'Setting' explains how it works in this drabble!

Setting: All setting/lore is the same as in game. Only addition is that adults, once all parties are of age, will receive the first words they will hear their soulmate speak on their wrist. Once heard, the words will gently pulse, signifying that they have been spoken.

Background: When the word "No" appeared on your wrist, you thought it a sick joke. Fortunate friends received sentences or information about their pairing, but you? You received no-thing.

Unaccustomed to the stone streets of Monstadt, you rubbernecked around the city, often pausing to admire the architecture or flora before moving on to the next interesting thing. Between your behavior and attire it was clear you were an outsider, garnering you light attention from passerbys. Specifically the attention of a more elaborately dressed man.

Introducing himself as Kaeya, Calvary Captain of the Knight of Favonious, he offered to introduce you to the city. How a captain had that kind of time was beyond you, but he seemed friendly and without ill intent so you accepted. That is how you now found yourself escorted toward a tavern, the Angel's Share, with a freshly borrowed Travel Guide in hand. He had a way with words, convincing you to leave the calm library in exchange for a social hangout, but he assured you the tavern would be just as quiet this time of day leaving you to trust his position before accepting.

Being the local, he easily guided you through the streets, conversation flowing effortlessly through his lips even if you chose to keep your own shut. "Don't tell the owner," he leaned slightly towards you, lowering his voice as he continued, "but the Angel's Share is the best tavern in Monstadt."

In the short time you'd known the man he danced around all things personal. Unsure if he was somehow baiting you on, you hesitantly tested the waters, "If you like their business, you should tell them." Glancing over to him for how our words landed, a flash of something... complicated crossed his face with your query. You could almost read an internal journey warring behind his blanked expression, but just as quickly as he faltered he recovered.

"Well now," He began, facade now revived with a playful grin, "a captain shouldn't play favorites." Winking in your direction, or what you presumed was a wink due to his eyepatch, he pulled away from you. There certainly was more the captain kept hidden away, but with how the city walls began to curve the tavern must be close so you paused any response.

Curiosity kept you quiet as you examined each structure, trying to pick out the Angel's Share instead of prying at your companion. Buildings kept passing by as you scanned for any clues, it wasn't until you nearly reached the last one that you cursed yourself for not noticing sooner, tables and sign neatly out front. But with your destination now discovered, it was time to resume the conversation.

"You said 'don't tell the owner,'" quoting his words back, unsatisfied with his earlier dismissal. "Oh did I?" Kaeya hummed towards you, indifference in his tone but his eye told a different story. The playful twinkle bore into you, silently daring you to press further to see how far you would go. As the captain reached out to the tavern door, holding it open for you to enter first, you accepted his dare and passed through the threshold. Glancing back towards him, mouth ajar and ready to quip back, his attention quickly curved around you towards the tavern interior.

Credit where due the captain had been right, excluding the closing hinges, the only sound inside were your own steps and rustling. For the "best tavern" you were surprised to see no other patrons inside before finally following his eye to reach the subject that diverted his attention. You missed whatever greeting Kaeya called out, focused instead on the man behind the counter and his deepening scowl with each new word the other spoke. Flaming hair swayed as he reflexively began preparing whatever drink had been requested, seemingly using the beverage as a distraction while Kaeya kept speaking.

The longer you observed him, the more questions you gained. Knowing Monstadt housed another tavern, why would Kaeya insist on visiting the one where his presence was met with displeasure? And why did the man serving him glare at each sentence, but soften whenever the other looked away? No answers came and perhaps you'd never receive them, but any current chance of learning was soon lost as Kaeya drew you from your thoughts, "Pardon my manners, (Y/N), would you like something to drink?"

Flicking your eyes back towards him, worried you had been caught staring, a surprised puff of air left your lips, prefacing the gentle "No," that shortly followed after. In truth the breeze had been nice and cool leaving you satisfied for now. With the quiet inside you had no plans to leave soon, giving time to request a beverage later if you grew thirsty, but for now whatever answers watching the two of them would give was your priority.

You returned your eyes to the bar to see if you needed to repeat your answer, expecting a brief acknowledgment or clarification. Instead crimson eyes gawked at yours as the bartender froze, pulling back the pouring bottle for a split second before returning to his ministrations. Declining a drink shouldn't be that odd you thought, but Kaeya once again caught your eye and distracted you as his head eagerly whipped around towards the other man.

Seconds trudged by as the two locked eyes, only the instinctive preparation of Kaeya's drink marked the slow passage of time. Completely unable to read the captain's expressions now that he faced away from you, you relied solely on the other as the two held a conversation through looks alone.

Though neither of them bore an electric vision, the room sparked with sudden tension. Each cock of Kaeya's head was quickly met with a leer in return from the redhead, him eventually raising his brows with stern annoyance. As the scowl returned to the bartender's features he capped the bottle, placing it behind the counter and huffing towards the captain in front of him. It wasn't until the drink clanked against the counter top, droplets leaving the glass due to the force, that the silence finally broke.

"No."

Time moved quickly for you as the bartender spat towards the other. At first nothing changed, your eyes still affixed on the two interacting, but as red eyes locked with yours once more, the gentle pulse of your wrist pulled at you. Lifting any fabric covering the patch of skin, you stared down at the common, useless word, that haunted your life. As the sensation died down and pieces fell together, you gawked at your wrist, missing how the two men had both turned to look at you.

Unfazed with the sharp tone thrown his way, the captain stated "You both had 'No', didn't you?" even though its answer was clear. Flicking your eyes up to meet the captain's frosted one, you instinctively nodded in response, clearing any doubt to what just passed. It wasn't until the captain's eye closed and a smile began to spread across his lips with a chuckle that you looked away. A knot formed inside you as you met deep crimson once more, nervous that somehow you had misunderstood the situation.

Silky laughter filled the room as the captain downed the fresh drink in front of him. Had you been in his shoes you too might have found humor in the situation, the likelihood of sharing the same word, and it being such an annoyingly overused one were slim. Neither of you joined in with his cheer however, instead you stared blankly, processing the predicament neither of you have prepared for.

Drink finished, Kaeya immediately bid farewell, claiming a forgotten meeting he must attend but felt confident with the new guide to replace him. You doubted any truth to the excuse, but were too stunned to snap back before his escape out the door. After a muttered apology for lying, you and your new companion carried along with pleasantries, you forced to provide most of the content. Through the conversation, your mind continued to add questions to the growing mysteries from your first visit to the City of Wind. Maybe one day you would get answers to them all, but for now you received his name, Diluc, and that would be enough.

#scrabble+drabbles #diluc x reader #genshin diluc x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin diluc #genshin impact diluc #diluc #diluc sfw #soulmate au #diluc x gn!reader #and just in case i wanna be clear #no this doesn't involve kae/////luc at all it's just brotherly care #do i think this is perfect? no #am i still posting it anyway and never looking at it again? absolutely #kaeye would 100% know diluc's word so everyone new he takes to the tavern and asks them a yes or no question #under the guise of being annoying but also he just wants to see his brother happy even if they're tense atm #but anytime diluc sees kaeya and someone new enter the tavern he just d e e p s i g h

[what-i-call-men]

Loyalty

James Patrick March x fem!reader

Warnings: a lot of murder, cheating on multiple occasions, some sex mentions, a proposal

Request: from me Fic thought of the night- you become James’ first prodigy because you were in the hotel with your husband and ended up pushing him out the window or something (where he wouldn’t end up in the hotel) and James wants you to carry on his work but you just fall in love with his passion. I’m thinking like housewife in the 60s poisoning her husband or something. Maybe she’s running from the crime scene and hiding in the hotel. Murder suicide and when she wakes up James is just clapping

Picture credit to @copy-of-a-cheeto​

That was it, you were over his stupid screaming and fighting with you and constant harassment over how bad you were at everything. You’d had it. You were on vacation with your husband and this was the last straw after nights of fighting instead of what should’ve been a romantic get away. He currently stood beside the window, looking out to the city, and muttering about how his assistant was so much better than you in bed. It wasn’t something you didn’t know about either but this was the last straw in your book.

With a rush of rage you walked behind him, grabbing an ice pick off the bar and ran it through his back. He gasped at the sudden pain, but before he could turn around to you you were removing the pick and picking him up with the strength of your adrenaline, pushing him head first out the window onto the street in front of the hotel. You leaned out after hearing the thud of his body from the 8-story drop. As you stared down at the body on the street you felt nothing other than rage, but as soon as you turned back to your room you realized that he’s dead and you just killed him. As soon as people figured out who he was you’d be suspect number one.

You hurried to his bag and grabbed the razor out of his toiletries. Killing yourself or your husband wasn’t even the strangest part of the whole affair. The strangest part was you waking up, staring down at your bloody body in the bath tub. At first you didn’t even realize what was happening until you heard slow clapping from behind you in your room. Turning around, you saw a man dressed in a suit with a cane and an ascot around his neck. “That was quite a show deary, I’ve never seen a woman with rage quite like yours.” He said and untucked the cane from his arm to lean against it again. “If you would’ve waited a few more seconds I would’ve offered you my own knife. Or I would’ve even done him in myself.”He gestures to his cane where it unlatched the head to reveal a small dagger.

You looked at him for a second, still at a loss for words until you finally murmured out a “who are you?”. James offered his hand to you to which you took as he introduced himself. “My name is James Patrick March. I built this hotel and I was walking past and heard the commotion. Serves him right for what he did to a beautiful woman like you. He got everything that was coming to him.” James muttered as he looked out towards the window where the body had fallen right off the property but behind the building where no one would see it.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long. He makes it so hard to even carve up a chicken for dinner without imagining it was it throat. He had been sleeping with his assistant for a year but I never went to college so I could never afford leave him.” You muttered as James walked towards the door, beckoning you to follow him. You followed and he nodded for you to continue talking. “He always wanted kids but I was never able to give that to him so he would seek her out in hopes she would provide that for him.” You felt like James was protecting you and made you feel better about what had happened. It was comforting until he placed his hand in yours to lead you down the halls and you felt a wedding ring adorned on his finger.

As the night went on James helped you, making a woman from the front desk carry in the body of your husband and throw him down a chute. He also had Ms. Evers dispose of your body and your husbands things. You soon sat in what you assumed was his room at a dinner table, eating along with him as he spoke about how artful your murder was. How a murder suicide was how he died as well with Ms. Evers and how that never stopped him from killing others. As James spoke, you quickly became enthralled with how passionate he was about death and killing. You didn’t have a weird or gross feeling when he talked about it, only a passionate love for the art of murder.

As days passed James had begun to taking a liking to your intrigue, in his murders. He began to show you the ropes of his preparation towards murder, the gory treasures he took from those he killed. On a trip you two took around the hotel on one of these days, he seemed particularly exited as you followed behind him past the bar and down a flight of stairs. “Mr. March I wanted to thank you for helping me out of my situation.” You spoke towards the man before you as he walked ahead of you.

“It was no problem dearest, I built this hotel as a safe haven for my hobby. A body is the least of its concerns.” He went on as you walked behind him. “May I ask where your wife is?” You asked and he faltered for a moment before stopping his walking and turning to you. “She’s none of your concern dearest.” He said and then continued walking, you falling a bit behind before he moved on to show you the torture chambers in the basement of the hotel. Surprisingly you weren’t weak stomached as he spoke eloquently about everything. Instead you held onto his elbow as he lead you around.

Something still felt wrong with him wearing a wedding ring and yet no talk of his wife or even a hint of her being around him. You’d been with him pretty much all of the last few days and he didn’t even have women’s things in his room to hint she lived there. “I have a surprise for you.” He said and you turned after hearing a door close behind you. Ms. Evers stood with a man and woman being hauled in behind her. “He’s just like your husband. He’s here today with his mistress because they chose to run away together. I thought this might excite you.” James said and the couple was thrown before you, gagged and tied.

You paused for a moment. You saw fear in both of their eyes. This woman was years younger than the man and he had grey littered through his hair. “Is she your assistant?” You spoke to him harshly, feeling the same anger towards your husband to this man now. He looked up at you and nodded. You felt your face grow hot as James slipped something into your hand. You glanced down to see a blade, the one from the top of his cane. Looking back to the man, you stared him down as you plunged the knife into the woman’s chest. His eyes widened and he screamed behind the gag.

Soon after stabbing the woman a few times you ripped the blade out and pointed it at the man. “You ungrateful traitorous bastard of a man deserve the worst and hottest place in hell for treating your poor hardworking wife as if she were nothing! She’s not nothing. I’m. Not. Nothing.” You yelled, punctuating your last words with a stab to his chest. You now straddling his body as blood coated your front. You felt no remorse. You in fact felt relief and you only felt better when James scooped you up and praised you. He ended his praise with a kiss to your lips. One that lasted a few moments as your heart dropped in your chest.

Nothing was really the same after that. James would ring your room every time a new man came in with a mistress and you would show up to their room usually with a knife behind your back. And every time you returned to James with blood splatter across your face and dress he would kiss you and help clean you off. You loved the praise he gave you but you knew you’d become his woman on the side. You’d never even slept with him but you still felt bad every time his wedding band touched your arm.

It wasn’t until he’d invited you to a dinner with him and his wife was there that you had truly met her. “Y/n, dearest, this is my wife Elizabeth.” He said as he gestured to the other woman at the table. She was a major juxtaposition in comparison to him. She was more into the times with her fashion, beautiful blonde hair swept across her face. “I’m so happy you could join us. I wanted to talk to you about your relationship with James here.” She patted a seat near her as James nudged you forwards. You sat nervously beside her, her aura oozing confidence and radiance.

“I want you to know I know everything you do for him and that him and I have an open arrangement for him and i to do as we please. Because I am the living owner of the hotel I keep the name and the legality of what we had, but none of the love he had for me.” She said and placed her hand on yours. “If you’d like to keep him company in the romantic sense I will be all the more supportive of your choice.” She added.

From that night on your relationship with James become more gory. Now instead of kisses and praise. You two would kill together in the hotel, then make love on the sheets stained with the blood of the adulterous couples. James was a rough man but you were just as commanding which he loved. He became so infatuated with killing with you, he invited you to a dinner he had which he coined “Devils Night”. It was his birthday dinner which initially was you and Him alone, but as the years went on he found others he deemed more impressive than you.

These others were alive and he coached them to kill for him in the outside world. It wasn’t until John that you had truly become fed up with these new guests, each one more horrid than the last. When John came around you wanted nothing more than to kill him along with Sally. He took up all of James’ time. You had turned to Elizabeth for comfort which she welcomed with open arms and bare chest. Sure it was taboo to sleep not only with her husband but also with her. It brought a new flame to your existence to find comfort in her arms at your shared loss in the murderous man. It wasn’t until she announced to you she planned to marry again that you grew excited again.

“James will not take it well. I’m telling you now so that you can swoop in to comfort him. I see how in love with him you are and how passionate he is about killing with you.” She said as she lit up her cigarette, the two of you clad in your silk robes as you laid in her bed. “James was never enough to make me happy but he truly will be for you for eternity.” She said and you grinned. That smile didn’t leave your face until James came you to hours after their monthly dinner, his hair a mess and his cheeks red with what was either anger or tears.

You welcomed him into your room with open arms, pressing his lips to yours as you closed the door behind him. He lifted you up and brought you to your bed, muttering quietly about how he didn’t see it coming and how stupid Elizabeth’s man was for choosing her. You shut him up with your lips as you undid his jacket, throwing it on the ground as you began on his button up. He kissed along the column of your throat as you felt the fire ignite in you again. A fire that hasn’t blazed since the 70s when James had found his second prodigy after you.

He set you down and you looked up to him as he paused in thought. “There’s a couple in room 36. Can we go back to how we were?” He asked gently and put his hands on your arms, his wedding ring now missing from his hand. “I’d love to James.” You muttered and leaned up to his lips once more. The couple was no trouble, to murder. You always loved to get the men while he had no problem taking care of the women.

Moments after you were both straddling the bodies, now soaked in their blood and enjoying the adrenaline rush at its peak. You heard James say something but you couldn’t hear him over the buzz in your ears. Looking to him, you egged him to repeat his words. “Marry me. You’re the only one who truly understands me. Better than Elizabeth ever was.” He said and turned to you fully from where he kneeled on the bed. “No one is as good to me as you, you are the best thing to happen to me in this eternal life. You bring light to this dreary eternity more than completing some stupid commandments killings from my lifetime.”

He said and moved over the bodies to you where you just smiled and nodded at him. He grabbed you by the waist, letting you fall back onto the bed into the pools of blood, kissing you fervently as you grinned against his lips. The kiss tasted like so many before, coated in an iron taste and the love of this man before you, but this was different because as he pulled away he smiled down at you. “Let me help you up, Mrs. March.” He offered and you took his hand, butterflies swarming in your chest as he helped you.

#james march #james patrick march #james march x reader #ahs hotel #fic thoughts fulfilled

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Lovestruck - fic

Characters: Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, kinda Dick Pairings: future!jondami, implied-kinda?timkon, also timbernard Summary: Damian starts acting weird after Tim and Bernard begin dating. Turns out even this kid can be naive, and a total idiot, when he wants to be. A/N: idk a headcanon I couldn’t stop thinking about haha. Damian is absolutely one of those genius kids who don’t know the most basic things. Also if it’s not clear, Damian is comparing Tim’s answers to what he likes in people to if they match Conner. all ages are current canon so Tim is immortal and Damian is 14 mkay bye.

~~

When Tim started dating Bernard, he expected a lot of different things. He expected Bruce’s protectiveness, Dick’s softness, Jason’s gift of XL condoms, Cassandra’s date suggestions and even Stephanie’s own prepared shovel talks for his new paramour.

But he did not expect…well, this.

He did not expect to see Damian sitting on the front porch when Bernard brought him home from their third date. He did not expect Damian to start furiously writing in the notebook on his lap at the sight of them.

He did not expect to come down to breakfast and see the kitchen table scattered with notes and lists and images of way too pretty people, pictures of Bernard and Steph among them.

“…What are you doing?” Tim found himself asking sleepily.

“Research.” Damian replied simply, sipping thoughtfully from a mug on the island. “None of your concern.”

“Oh yeah?” Tim asked as he approached. Instantly he tapped the photos of Steph and Bernard. “So why are there pictures of my ex-girlfriend and current…boyfriend here?”

His stomach still did giddy jumps at the thought.

Damian’s lips twitched, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then he reached out and slid the photos underneath some papers. “Just…persons of interests.”

“For?”

“None of your concern.” Damian reiterated. Quickly, he began to shuffle all of his papers and pictures together. “Jeez, what does that Dowd boy even see in you…”

And then he was gone before Tim’s pre-caffeine mind could catch up.

After that, Damian was less obvious, but Tim could still catch on. In fact, everyone was catching on. But, like the emotionally constipated Bats they were, no one said anything, or tipped their youngest off.

They all just watched, as he suddenly began to distantly follow Tim around. Around the house, around the city, both as a civilian and in uniform. It was Cassandra who declared that Damian was watching who Tim was interacting with, not necessarily him.

He never followed him on his dates, though.

Then came the questions. Every time they were together. They’d go to lunch downtown near the office, and Damian would ask:

“Do you like that girl’s hair?”

“Would you ever wear those shoes?”

“How much do you respect a person if their suit jacket doesn’t fit them properly?”

When they’d be staking out a suspect on a building overlooking a street corner, he’d say:

“That belt is too gaudy.”

“You can tell he spent way too many hours in the mirror getting ready to go to that disgusting dive.”

“I can’t believe she’s walking on this street in those heels. Would you go for comfort or fashion?”

And it continued, the following, the seemingly random questions. After a while, Tim chalked it up to…maybe Damian was just getting to know him. Just trying to actually get along for once in their lives. They were both getting older, more mature. Maybe it was just time they started acting like what they were.

Brothers.

But then he came home one afternoon to find Dick standing in the manor’s foyer, back leaning against the wall that led into the central sitting room they all used. It was almost evening, which meant Damian was most likely in there sketching, or reading with his pets.

Dick noticed him open the door, and quickly put a finger to his smiling lips. Tim nodded and silently closed the door behind him, carefully took off his shoes and jacket, then tiptoed over to Dick.

He peeked around Dick’s shoulder. Sure enough, Damian was in there, but he was standing at the fireplace, staring down into the flames.

Jason sat in the loveseat behind him.

“Jay just got in there. He hasn’t said anything yet.” Dick breathed. Tim frowned skeptically. Surely Damian knew who was in the house. Knew there was something going on if Jason had just sought him out.

“What are we interrogating him for?” Tim whispered back. “Did he lose one of Alfred’s recipe books again?”

Dick just shook his head and pointed into the room. Tim looked back in.

Jason was relaxed in the chair, but staring intensely at his youngest brother. Damian must have known that, felt his eyes, because he wasn’t looking up. Kept his gaze glued to the fire at his feet.

Suddenly, Jason huffed, crossing his arms. “Spill.”

“Spill what.” Damian rolled his eyes.

“Spill why you’re stalking Tim.” Jason said bluntly. “Why you’re asking him all those dumbass questions.” A pause. “…Why you’re keeping tabs on his boyfriend.”

Tim inhaled sharply, glaring up at Dick. Dick waved both his arms quickly, implying that Jason’s words weren’t true, that it was just to catch Damian off guard.

“I’m not keeping tabs on him, Todd. That’s ridiculous.” Damian countered. “I’m merely making sure they’re still together.”

A moment to let the fire crackle.

“Well, I’m also making sure that boy isn’t hurting or manipulating Drake in some way.” Damian murmured softly. “But mostly, I’m just making sure they’re still together.”

Jason crossed his ankle over his knee. “Why?”

“What, I can’t be concerned for my brother’s safety and happiness?”

Jason snorted. “Not that brother’s.”

Damian glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes. Then back to the fire.

Jason waited a minute, let his eyes dart across Damian’s back, study his posture. “…Why are you so concerned if Tim and his new boy-toy are still together?”

Damian shrugged silently.

“Don’t do that.” Jason scolded. “Use your words, Damian. Like a big boy.”

Damian let out a frustrated exhale. “I’m just…confirming Drake isn’t looking elsewhere.”

“What, to cheat on his boyfriend?” Jason drawled. “Timmy’s not the cheating type, I can tell.”

“No. No.” Damian said sternly. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying!” Damian threw his arms out. Let them fall back to his thighs with a slight smack. “…I’m saying I’ve seen him look at others the way he looks at Bernard Dowd and that is…concerning. …To me.”

“Others?” Jason questioned. “What others?”

“Like Conner Kent!” Damian finally spun around now. Jason’s eyebrows rose in surprise and Damian rolled his eyes again. “Oh don’t tell me you don’t see it. Those two have been flirting with each other since the damn day they met. Drake dating this boy now only confirms the possibility of their eventual coupling.”

Jason let his face settle back into neutral, let the words bounce around in his brain. “Okay…I guess I can agree with that.”

Tim glanced up at Dick, who gave him a wink. Tim’s face instantly went beet red.

“But that still tells me nothing.” Jason continued. “So Tim and Conner maybe had or have crushes on each other. Maybe they’re attracted to each other. Maybe they’re forever star-crossed and nothing will ever happen. So what? Why does that bother you?”

Damian kept his lips pressed firmly together. After a moment, he spun back towards the fire.

“…Damian?”

“…Because it would be weird.” Damian said at last. “It would be weird if he and Conner…”

Damian’s voice fell to an unintelligible mumble.

“What?” Jason asked gently. “I didn’t catch that.”

Damian mumbled again, still impossible to understand.

“Kid, you’re gonna have to speak up, okay. I can’t hear you-”

“I said it would be weird if he was dating Conner while I was dating Jon!” Damian yelled, whirling around once more. “And if he breaks up with Dowd and starts dating Conner before I can gain the courage to talk to Jon then I’ll lose my chance!”

His last words echoed in the space around them. Floated into the hallway and echoed up the stairs, too.

Not that anyone noticed. Tim had grabbed Dick’s bicep, while Dick had thrown a hand over his own mouth in surprise.

“Oh my god.” Tim whispered. “Oh my god, oh my god.”

“That…” Dick murmured. “That’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Jason, luckily, had more composure than the two of them, and suddenly Tim realized why it was Jason doing the prodding, not Dick.

Jason’s eyes had just widened, no other movement than that. He remained still, remained calm, even as Damian’s face darkened, and embarrassed tears appeared in the corners of his eyes.

“Oh.” He said simply. “Oh, Damian.”

“Shut up.” Damian crossed his arms again, but they all knew this time it was to hold himself. “Don’t…don’t make fun of me.”

“Never.” Jason promised. “But also, not a thing you need to worry about.”

“Why, because Jon will turn me down anyway?” Damian whispered bitterly, turning away. Not towards the fire this time, just the window.

“He’d be an idiot to, and I’ll beat the shit out of him if he does.” Jason said as he uncrossed his legs and leaned his elbows on his knees. “No, I mean, you don’t need to worry about it because it wouldn’t be weird if y’all just so happened to be double-dating.”

Damian waited, then glanced back at Jason. “It wouldn’t?” Jason smiled and shook his head. “There isn’t like…I mean…a law…?” He inhaled slowly. “If Drake and Conner started dating, wouldn’t that make Jonathan and I…related?”

“That’s only if they got married, and even then, wouldn’t be weird.” Jason shrugged. “What, you’ve never heard those stories of like…twins marrying another set of twins? That shit happens all the time. You wouldn’t be the first.”

Damian blinked owlishly, let his hands fall back to his sides. “…Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Jason laughed, standing. “Besides, Tim seems to really like Blondie whats-his-name so…I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.” A second, to cheekily add: “At least…not right now.”

Damian twisted his lips. “I told you their chemistry was obvious.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, so is Bruce and Clark’s if you ask the tabloids and half the Justice League.” Jason droned, reaching out for Damian’s shoulder and tugging him into his side. “But like I said, don’t worry about it. Who cares about your idiot brother and who he’s dating, let’s focus more on you and how you’re gonna woo one Jonathan Kent, mmkay?”

He quickly ushered Damian out of the room using a door on the far side, only glancing back once to mouth oh my god! dramatically to the ones watching from the hall.

“That…” Tim exhaled as Jason closed the door behind them. “…was the most precious thing I think I’ve ever seen.”

Dick hummed in agreement, then: “…But is he right?”

Tim glanced up at him.

“You and Conner?”

Tim felt his face warm a little. “…I’m dating Bernard, Dick.”

“Okay.”

“And…I think I should go call him. We haven’t talked all day.”

Dick smirked. “Okay.”

“…Don’t look at me like that.”

Dick let out a chuckle. “Okay.”

“…Stop saying okay.”

“…Okay.”

“Dick!”

He laughed again. “Sorry, sorry.” He ran his fingers through Tim’s hair. “Tell Bernard I said hello, and also warn him that your younger brother is absolutely ready to gut him, should he hurt you.”

Oh yeah. Tim forgot that little tidbit. He felt his face warm even faster.

“Yeah…” He sighed, turning towards the stairs. He ignored the little flutter in his heart, at the idea of his lovesick, protective, ridiculous little brother. God, that kid. “Yeah, I think that’s probably something he oughta know.”

#Damian Wayne #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #jondami #timkon #timbernard #whatever that ship name is idk